FIRST   HARVESTS 


WORKS   OF   FICTION 

BY 

F.  J.  STIMSON 

(/.  S.  of  Dale) 

FIRST  HARVESTS,  ------     CLOTH,  $1.25 

THE  SENTIMENTAL  CALENDAR,  -----  $2.00 

By  the  Major  Two  Passions  and  a  Cardinal  Virtue 

The  Bells  of  Avalon  Glorianal  a  Fairy  Story 

Mr.  Pillian  Wraye  In  a  Garret 

The  Seven  Lights  of  Asia  Our  Consul  at  Carlsruhe 

A  First  Love  Letter  A  Tale  Unfolded 

Bill  Shelby  Mrs   Knollys 

Passages  from  the  Diary  of  a  Hong  Kong  Merchant 

THE  CRIME  OF  HENRY  VANE,    -      -      -      CLOTH,  $1.00 

GUERNDALE,         -  CLOTH,  $125;  PAPER,  50  C=NTS 

THE  RESIDUARY  LEGATEE,      CLOTH,  $1.00-,  PAPER,  35  CENT* 


FIRST  HARVESTS 


An  Episode  in  the  Life  of  Mrs.  Levison  Cower 


Satire  IKIUtbout  a  rtboral 


BY 

F.  J.  STIMSON 

(J.  S.  OF   DALE) 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
1888 


COPYRIGHT,  1888,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


TROWS 

PRINTING  AND  BOOKBINDING  COMPANY, 
NEW  TOfiK. 


TO  THE  READER. 


/  have  called  this  book  a  satire  ;  yet  have  sought  within 
that  key  an  overtone  of  hope  and  faith.  Our  early  gener- 
ation of  -writers  could  be  all  optimists :  for  they  wrote 
of  virgin  soil.  But  since  their  day  has  passed,  our  coun- 
try's first-fruits  were  garnered.  With  these  we  have 
to  deal. 

F.  J.  S. 

Boston,  November  6,  1888. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  L 

PACR 

THE  SILAS  STARBUCK  OIL  COMPANY, i 


CHAPTER  IL 
FLOSSIE  STARBUCK  ASPIRES, .    15 

CHAPTER  IIL 
FLOSSIE  STARBUCK  ATTAINS 24 

CHAPTER  IV. 
ARTHUR  HOLYOKE'S  DREAMS, .    34 

CHAPTER  V. 
OF  GRACIE  HOLYOKE  AND  OF  HER  HEART,  ,       .        .        .43 

CHAPTER  VL 
THE  JUDGE  SUMS  UP  His  CASE, 52 


vi  Contents. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

PACK 

ARTHUR  SEES  THE  WORLD, .61 


CHAPTER  VIIL 
ARTHUR  SEES  MORE  OF  THE  WORLD,   .....      75 

CHAPTER   IX. 
ARTHUR  GETS  ON  IN  THE  WORLD, 88 

CHAPTER  X. 
IN  WHICH  ARTHUR  MEETS  A  WEARIED  SOUL,      ...      98 

CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  STORY  OF  A  QUIET  SUNDAY  EVENING,          .        .        ,112 

CHAPTER  XIL 
A  COMMUNIST  AND  His  SISTER, 123 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
UNA  AND  THE  LION, 137 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
A  SOCIAL  SUCCESS,         .  146 

CHAPTER  XV. 
THE  DIVERSIONS  OF  FINE  LADIES, 156 


Contents.  vii 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

PAGE 

IN  MAIDEN  MEDITATION, 164 


CHAPTER   XVII. 
A  CULTIVATOR  OF  THISTLES, 171 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
A  DAY'S  PLEASURE, 190 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
A  COACH  AND  FOUR  COUPLES, 215 

CHAPTER  XX. 
THE  CHARIOT  OF  THE  CARELESS  GODS 227 

CHAPTER   XXL 
ARTHUR  GOES  HOME 244 

CHAPTER  XXIL 
A  HOUSE  BUILT  WITH  HANDS 259 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
THE  SLAVES  OF  THE  LAMP,   .......    273 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
MAMIE  GOES  TO  THE  SHOW, 298 


viii  Contents. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

PAGE 

KITTY  FARNUM  TAKES  THE  PRIZE, 308 


CHAPTER  XXVL 
FLOSSIE  ENJOYS  HERSELF, 319 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
JEM  STARBUCK  AMUSES  HIMSELF, 329 

CHAPTER  XXVIIL 
ARTHUR  HAS  A  LITTLE  DINNER, 349 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
CAPTAIN  DERVVENT  SEALS  His  FATE, 360 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
ARTHUR  is  MADE  HAPPY 370 

CHAPTER  XXXL 
A  FINANCIER'S  DINNER, 376 

CHAPTER   XXXIL 
THE  DEACON'S  VENGEANCE, 384 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
THE  DUVAL  BALL, 395 


Contents.  ix 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

PAGE 

THE  DUVAL  BALL,  Concluded, 402 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 
SORTIE  Du  BAL 4*5 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
THE  NIGHT  AT  THE  WORKS, 421 

CHAPTER  XXXVIL 
THE  OLDEST  MEMBER, 435 

CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 
THE  END  OF  THE  EPISODE 445 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
FLOSSIE  DECLINES, 458 

CHAPTER  XL. 
THE  FLOWERS  IN  THE  HARVEST, 466 


FIRST  HARVESTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  SILAS   STARBUCK  OIL   COMPANY. 

|N  the  northeast  corner  of  Fifth  Avenue  and 
Thirty-second  Street,  just  where  the  long 
rise  of  the  avenue  begins,  and  vanishes  in 
higher  perspective  like  the  stage  of  a 
theatre,  its  long  slope  always  dotted  with  a  multi- 
tude of  yellow  carriages,  cabs,  and  dark-green  private 
broughams,  there  stands  a  large  brown-stone  house  of 
irreproachable  respectability.  The  steps  in  front  of 
the  door  are  also  of  brown-stone ;  and  the  columns 
on  either  side  terminate  in  the  hollow  globes  of  iron, 
painted  green,  common  to  a  thousand  other  houses 
in  New  York.  Upon  the  first  floor  above  the  base- 
ment are  three  windows  and  a  door ;  in  the  second 
story  are  four  windows,  one  above  the  door ;  and  in 
the  third,  four  others  again.  The  windows  are  all  of 
the  same  size ;  but  those  of  the  second  and  third 
stories  are  plain,  while  the  lowest  have  above  them  an 
oval  design  with  flowery,  curved  ornaments.  What 
the  original  designer  of  these  windows  sought  to  ex- 


2  First  Harvests. 

press  in  them  is  not  clear;  but  subsequent  builders, 
not  seeing  the  need  of  expressing  anything  in  window- 
caps,  but  supposing  some  adornment  proper  in  that 
place,  have  copied  them  without  deviation,  much  as  a 
lady  ties  a  bow-knot  on  her  lapdog's  tail. 

Yet,  such  as  it  is,  this  square  brown  box  contains  a 
flower  of  American  civilization.  And  flowers  are  gay, 
conspicuous,  noteworthy  in  themselves  ;  but  the  more 
noteworthy  as  bearing  the  seeds  that  shall  be  multi- 
plied in  next  year's  crop.  No  one  would  perhaps 
think  that  this  house,  standing  unadorned  and  unnote- 
worthy  on  the  corner  of  Fifth  Avenue  and  Thirty- 
second  Street,  was  so  rare  a  possession,  or  contained 
in  itself  so  much  ;  that  this  square  box,  valued  solely 
because  of  its  proximity  to  other  similar  square  boxes, 
represented  the  American  social  apotheosis — the  pure 
spheres  of  perfect  democratic  joy,  the  acme,  in  this  re- 
public of  terrestrial  success.  Yet  of  the  fact  there  can 
be  no  question.  That  little  vertebral  ridge  named 
Fifth  Avenue,  with  its  one  or  two  similar  ridges,  its 
few  timid  excursions  and  venturings  in  by-streets  to 
the  east  and  west,  represents  the  flower  and  the  crown 
of  things ;  only  those  there  live  who  can  command  at 
least  wealth  or  power  at  will ;  neither  blood  nor  brains 
nor  breeding  can  maintain  themselves  upon  that 
vantage-coin  unaided  and  alone.  So  have  we  seen 
some  bed  of  oysters,  planted  at  just  the  proper  level 
of  the  shoal,  look  down  with  superiority  and  scorn 
upon  those  below,  cumbered  with  the  sea-weed,  and 
those  above,  left  awash  at  low  spring  tides.  Merely 
to  own  this  house,  and  not  to  live  in  it  ;  to  own  it 


The  Silas  Starbuck   Oil  Company.       3 

only  as  some  miser  owns  a  picture  or  a  rare  gem,  for 
the  pleasure  of  possession — would  cost,  in  interest 
and  taxes,  the  labor  of  some  score  of  able-bodied  men 
each  year.  To  live  in  it,  with  servants  trained  to 
feudal  manners  and  address,  with  the  necessary  wines 
and  equipage  and  flowers  and  feathers  that  attend  so 
rare  a  gem*  would  cost  the  earnings  of  an  army.  Has 
the  fortunate  possessor  of  the  house  such  an  army  at 
his  call  ?  Surely  ;  else  how  could  he  keep  it  ?  We 
shall  see  them  shortly.  And  what  of  the  inside  of 
the  house  ? — is  it  suited  to  the  high  position  of  the 
inmates  ?  Softly,  my  good  madam  ;  a  stranger  can 
hardly  know  how  difficult  it  is  to  gain  access  to  this 
mansion,  and  how  exclusive  is  the  set  which  Mrs. 
Gower  leads. 

For  the  pedestrians  on  the  pavement  look  up  to 
No.  2002  with  an  air  of  respect.  Few  of  them  but 
know  the  house  as  Mrs.  Levison  Gower's.  And  even 
the  pedestrians  on  the  pavement,  in  this  select  spot, 
are  of  a  picked  and  chosen  class.  Many  of  them  are 
young  girls,  robed  for  this  winter  (it  is  the  fashion)  in 
trailing  gowns  of  deep-blue  velvet ;  many  more  are 
young  men,  carrying  their  arms  bow-leggedly,  as  it 
were,  as  if  not  satisfied  with  the  natural  stiffness  of 
their  starch  and  buckram,  but  adding  the  conscious 
poise  of  art,  to  make  you  note  that  they  are  dressed, 
not  clothed  alone.  And  not  one  of  them  that  passes 
but  knows  and  values  at  its  due  the  house  in  which 
you  take  so  little  interest.  This  is  the  respectable 
quarter  ;  and  the  great,  ugly  house  stands  insolently, 
as  of  social  position  assured. 


4  First  Harvests. 

But  our  great  city  is  too  great,  too  human,  to  show 
us  much  of  this.  Like  most  fecund  mothers,  like  nat- 
ure herself,  her  luxuriance  is  somewhat  slatternly,  her 
exuberance  has  burst  its  stays.  Here  and  there  our 
manners,  our  conventions,  trim  a  hedge  or  two ;  but 
everywhere  the  forests,  and  even  at  our  feet,  the 
weeds,  grow  wild.  Fifth  Avenue,  and  its  short  pur- 
lieus, is  the  home  of  society ;  but  elsewhere  in  the 
island  of  Manhattan  humanity  lives,  unkempt,  full  of 
sap — that  great  humanity  which  has  made  Mrs.  Gower, 
and  which  she  so  studiously  avoids.  For  she  lives  in 
society ;  and  perhaps  has  never  thought  that  it  is  on 
humanity  she  lives.  Let  us  walk  from  her  great  house 
down  the  side  street  in  search  of  it. 

For  a  block  or  two  the  houses  will  stand  shoulder 
to  shoulder  like  a  well-drilled  rank,  well  kept,  well 
swept,  and  uniformed  in  the  same  non-committal, 
smug,  respectable  brown-stone,  a  very  broadcloth  of 
building.  Then  the  houses  begin  to  grow  narrower, 
with  thinner  walls,  though  still  they  keep  their  facing 
on  the  street.  Soon  you  pass  stables,  city  stables  ; 
their  stale,  sour  odor,  puffing  from  the  rarely  opened 
windows,  is  very  different  from  the  sweet,  healthy 
smells  of  a  country  farm-yard.  Now  the  street  is 
lined  with  long,  low,  blank-windowed  warehouses, 
built  cheaply  of  brick  and  studded  with  star-shaped 
iron  clamps ;  you  wonder  what  may  be  their  use,  for 
the  windows,  even  when  not  curtained  with  blue 
paper,  are  impenetrable  and  do  not  avow  their  voca- 
tion ;  nor,  usually,  is  there  any  sign,  though  the  ugly 
walls  are  covered  with  advertisements  of  patent  medi- 


The  Silas  Starbitck   Oil  Company.        5 

cines,  powders  for  making  bread,  powders  for  washing 
clothes,  powders  for  feeding  children,  Giant  Destroy- 
ers of  moths,  and  the  like.  But  soon  this  limbo  is 
passed,  and  you  come  to  the  populated  districts  of  hu- 
manity. Here  the  windows  are  no  longer  blank ;  the 
houses  overflow  with  children  ;  stout  mothers  sit 
nursing  them  in  the  door-ways  and  gossip  with  their 
neighbors  in  the  second  story  across  the  way;  things 
in  general  are  used  too  much,  to  keep  their  varnish 
from  the  shop.  I  am  afraid  Mrs.  Gower  would  call 
it  squalor. 

The  retail  shops  do  a  driving  business  in  the  avenue 
around  the  corner  ;  on  the  curb,  under  a  ragged  locust- 
tree,  is  a  canvas  shed  for  horses,  too  busy  to  take  their 
feed  respectably  in  a  stable  ;  the  brick  police  station 
is  the  only  building  having  pretension  to  respectabil- 
ity. An  ice-cream  vender  sells  his  wares  openly  on 
the  street,  in  front  of  a  hospitable  barber's — the  pro- 
cesses of  human  life  are  open  and  avowed ;  great  iron 
gas-retorts  are  seen  above  the  roofs  of  the  houses. 
There  is  a  row  of  huge smelting-furnaces,  with  straight 
lines  of  stunted  willow-trees  shading  them ;  and  the 
air  is  full  of  the  crash  of  hammered  iron.  The  pedes- 
trians on  the  sidewalks  walk  with  the  same  bent  arms 
as  on  Fifth  Avenue ;  but  the  arms  are  bent  with  labor, 
and  the  hands  are  half  clenched,  with  the  curl  of  be- 
ing but  just  released  from  some  accustomed  tool. 
Piles  of  Spanish-cedar  logs  on  the  street  denote  our 
approach  to  the  wharves  ;  and  now  the  river,  fretted 
with  the  traffic  of  a  continent,  lies  before  us. 

But  our  business — Mrs.  Gower's  business — lies  not 


6  First  Harvests. 

among  the  wharves,  but  across  the  river  and  beyond. 
If  the  wind  lies  in  the  east,  you  may  set  your  nose 
toward  it  and  sniff  the  air — is  there  not  already  a  faint 
smell  perceptible,  a  smell  other  than  that  of  the  salt 
water,  a  smell  artificial  and  complex  ?  As  we  cross 
the  river  it  increases.  We  thread  our  way  among  the 
tug-boats,  the  scows,  the  flat-ended  ferry-boats  and 
other  land-lubber  craft ;  passing  all  the  great  steamers 
of  the  lower  town,  and  the  lumber-wharves  and  water- 
gardens  of  the  upper,  and  you  may  see  ahead  of  you 
a  series  of  long  wharves,  jutting  far  out  into  the 
stream.  Behind  them  are  many  acres  of  long,  low 
buildings,  platforms,  piles  of  barrels,  and  many  huge 
and  lofty  towers  of  plated  iron ;  the  wharves  them- 
selves surrounded  with  attendant  ships — fine  ships, 
three-masted,  with  the  natural  beauty  and  symmetry 
that  comes  from  adaptation  to  the  free  winds  of  hea- 
ven, and  not  to  steam  and  man's  contrivance.  There 
are  no  steam-boats  at  the  wharves,  and  you  will  wonder 
why ;  but,  by  this  time,  the  rich  and  unctuous  smell 
from  the  wharves  proceeding  will  demand  your  whole 
attention. 

You  will  perhaps  read  the  long  sign,  painted  in  let- 
ters, as  it  were,  life-size,  displayed  in  long  procession 
athwart  the  wharf's  end,  in  square,  plain,  proper  char- 
acters of  black  on  white — 

THE   SILAS   STARBUCK   OIL  COMPANY 

— but  the  reading  will  be  superfluous  ;  for  the  pleas- 
ureless,  painless  perception  of  the  eye  but  feebly  sup- 


The  Silas  Starbuck   Oil  Company.        7 

plements  the  pungent,  will-arousing  sensation  of  the 
other  sense.  It  is  the  old  battle  of  the  idea  and  the 
will ;  and  the  will,  as  always,  wins.  And  all  the 
world  is  smell. 

Many  things  grow  clear  to  us  as  the  smell  grows 
stronger.  While  we  mildly  wonder  that  a  sense  so 
little  cultivated  in  aesthetics  can  bring  so  strong  a  pain, 
we  also  perceive  the  reason  for  the  absence  of  steam- 
ers ;  for  petroleum  is  a  dangerous  blessing,  fond  of 
fire,  and  it  takes  fire  to  make  water  do  its  work — a 
lazy  element,  much  like  the  human  soul. 

Is  there  a  perfume  called  mille  fleurs  ?  A  thousand 
odors  woo  our  preference  as  we  land  among  the  great 
ships  ;  but  there  is  a  certain  agreeableness  in  some  of 
them,  as  we  get  used  to  the  worst  and  begin  to  dis- 
criminate. We  can  even  understand  the  workmen 
growing  fond  of  them,  as  they  tell  us  that  they  do ; 
that  they  are  also  conducive  to.  long  life  seems  more 
doubtful.  All  over  the  oil-yards  are  smells  ;  as  many 
in  variety  as  the  colors  of  aniline  dye,  from  the  first 
rather  pleasant  smell,  like  a  cellar  full  of  cider,  barrels 
of  cider  with  the  bung-holes  open,  to  the  more  fetid 
varieties.  Many  places  have  the  sickening,  capitive 
odor  of  ether,  from  the  volatile  surface-naphtha;  this, 
being  dangerous,  has  a  peculiar  fascination  of  its  own. 
For  naphtha  is  light,  volatile,  inflammable,  impulsive, 
the  aristocrat  of  oils ;  and  its  odor  intoxicates. 

But  come — we  must  not  dally  with  this  naphtha, 
this  crhne  de  la  creme  of  the  upper  crust — come  to  the 
receiving-tanks  upon  the  hill.  There  is  a  lesson  in 
the  making  of  oil,  as  in  most  things.  I  make  no 


8  First  Harvests. 

doubt  Mr.  Tyndall  would  find  the  process  quite 
of  a  piece  with  the  evolution  of  the  soul.  Here  you 
see  the  crude  oil  as  it  came  from  its  native  earth,  in 
the  pipe-lines  from  the  wells ;  it  looks  like  greenish 
molasses,  and  smells  of  the  devil.  Natural  depravity, 
we  must  suppose.  But  see  it  in  the  tail-house ;  or, 
rather,  let  us  first  look  at  the  stills,  those  broad,  black 
towers,  under  which  the  fire  rages,  like  those  in  the 
city  of  Dis.  Here  is  the  burning  and  the  broiling  that 
throws  off  the  grosser  atoms  from  the  pure  oil  of  light ; 
first,  alas  !  first  of  all,  our  pleasant  naphtha,  our  cream 
of  oils  ;  a  short  hour  or  two  is  enough  for  that,  and  it 
is  gone.  Here  you  see  it,  through  the  glass  cover  to 
the  iron  trough  in  the  tail-house,  the  first  "  run  "  of  all. 
What  a  strange  liquid,  as  it  breaks  and  dances  in  its 
flow — light,  shining,  mobile,  broken  into  sharp  facets 
and  flashes  like  cut  glass  ;  a  spirit,  not  an  oil. 

Flossie  Starbuck  used  to  fancy  this  was  the  water 
of  the  streams  of  hell.  A  great  poet  had  had  the  same 
idea  before,  which  is  surely  to  the  credit  of  Flossie's 
imagination ;  for  she  knew  nothing  of  great  poets,  as 
a  child. 

This  tail-house,  or  receiving-house,  was  a  favorite 
haunt  of  hers,  on  half-holidays  when  her  father  would 
take  her  to  the  works,  for  a  treat.  It  was  pleasant, 
on  a  warm  day,  to  stand  at  the  window  of  the  iron 
blower-house  and  watch  the  great  fan  whirl  its  four 
hundred  revolutions  in  a  minute,  and  feel  the  rush  of 
cool  air  in  through  the  open  windows;  but  it  was  more 
interesting  to  sit  in  the  tail-house  and  admire  the 
"runs"  of  oil — the  quick  naphtha,  dry  and  shining, 


The  Silas  Starbuck   Oil  Company.        9 

with  its  etherous,  heady  fragrance,  and  then  the  duller, 
yellower  oils,  under  which  the  flow  of  mixed  water 
went  in  globules  of  a  dirty  blue.  Florence  could  have 
told  you  as  well  as  any  workman  when  the  naphtha- 
run  had  passed  and  it  was  time  to  turn  the  oil  into  the 
tanks,  and  whether  it  were  Standard,  Regular,  or 
Water-White — the  same  discrimination  that  now  she 
exercises  upon  humanity.  Then,  when  the  black, 
pitchy  residuum  began  to  show,  she  would  get  the 
superintendent  to  talk  to  her  of  the  aniline,  and  of 
the  lovely  colors  which  the  nasty,  black  stuff  would 
make  ;  and  how  the  foul-smelling  paraffine  was  made 
into  chewing-gum  "  for  young  misses."  Flossie  never 
used  chewing-gum;  but  later  in  life,  when  standing 
before  Transatlantic  Titians,  it  had  come  over  her 
with  a  pang  that  she  had  once  admired  aniline  dyes; 
cards  of  which,  magentas,  sea-greens,  mauves,  the 
superintendent  used  to  give  to  her,  and  she  to  place 
upon  her  bureau. 

Have  you  had  enough  of  oil  ?  There  is  no  beauty, 
you  say,  not  much  of  truth,  and  many  bad  smells. 
One  moment ;  before  we  turn  away  let  us  glance  into 
the  spraying-house.  This  was  always  Flossie's  bonne- 
bouche,  and  it  shall  be  ours. 

The  spraying-tank  is  another  great,  round  iron 
tower,  rusted  and  dingy  like  the  rest ;  but  inside — 
have  you  seen  the  Alhambra  ?  When  Flossie  first 
went  into  the  Court  of  the  Lions,  passing  in  through 
the  low  gate  in  the  ugly  brick  tower,  to  the  green 
pool  and  the  plashing  fountain,  and  the  sunlight 
streaming  in  from  above  upon  the  snowy  columns  of 


io  First  Harvests. 

rosy  marble  and  the  rainbow-hued  arabesques  of  those 
fairy  vistas,  the  grouped  columns  changing,  as  she 
walked,  like  clusters  of  fair  women  holding  converse 
in  a  garden — her  first  thought  was  of  this.  A  fathom 
deep  the  oil  lies  in  the  central  pool ;  and  as  we  come 
in  from  the  dark  passage  the  spraying-fountain  bursts 
upon  us  like  a  vision  of  glory.  The  great  room  would 
be  dark,  for  there  are  no  windows,  but  that  an  iron 
slide,  high  up  above,  is  drawn  back  a  quadrant  of  the 
circle  of  the  wall ;  and  through  this  a  mighty  shaft  of 
sunlight  pours  downward  into  the  whirl  of  golden 
spray.  Here  is  the  fountain  of  gold  of  the  Arabian 
Nights. 

Cool  and  still  lies  the  oil  in  the  amber  pool,  clear 
as  some  golden  air ;  while  above,  the  fountain  whirls 
it  in  a  million  golden  beads,  spraying  into  spray  as 
fine  as  water,  falling  a  golden  rain,  but  silent,  without 
a  splash,  into  the  liquid  rest  of  the  basin,  where  it, 
fine  as  water,  foams.  Thence  it  is  ever  drawn  back 
again,  and  forced  through  the  fountain  in  the  sun, 
until  all  commoner  atoms  are  lost  and  the  pure  oil  is 
sprayed  to  test.  And  the  yellow  drops  run  in  steady 
curves  and  arches  light  as  any  lintel  of  the  Moorish 
palace,  and  chase  each  other  with  a  merry  music  till 
they  fall  in  the  amber  pool;  and  there  the  full  sun 
shines  fair  upon  its  surface  in  a  gorgeous  purple,  green, 
and  iridescent  sheen.  And  so  pure  and  beautiful  the 
oil  lies  when  the  fountain  is  still,  so  clear,  with  the 
steam-pipes  in  the  bottom  keeping  it  warm  lest  it 
should  grow  cloudy !  Here  Flossie  would  sit  and 
dream  for  hours,  before  she  waked  to  the  world  and 


The  Silas  Star  buck   Oil  Company.      n 

its  real  joys,  watching  the  oil  as  it  was  sprayed  to 
test. 

And  how  do  they  know  when  it  is  pure  enough  to 
stand  the  test  ?  The  process  is  simple.  An  electric 
spark  is  applied,  at  the  various  degrees  of  heat,  until 
the  oil  takes  fire  and  flashes  in  the  pan.  Temptation 
is  the  test  of  all  things  in  this  world. 

Yet  many  a  fortune  has  been  made  in  this  place ; 
and  chief  among  them  was,  and  still  is,  the  fortune  of 
Mr.  Silas  Starbuck,  late  of  New  York  City,  now  of 
parts  unknown,  refiner  of  whale  and  sperm  oils,  de- 
ceased in  1872  ;  half  the  income  of  which  fortune,  the 
corpus  being  vested  in  three  testamentary  trustees  of 
prominence  in  the  Presbyterian  Church,  and  immense 
wealth  of  their  own,  is  annually  paid  by  said  trustees 
(after  deducting  all  necessary  expenses  of  repairs,  in- 
surance, taxes,  care  and  management  of  the  property, 
their  own  commissions,  and  an  annuity  of  $1,000  each 
to  the  American  Bible  Society  and  the  Board  of  For- 
eign Missions)  to  the  only  daughter  of  the  said  testa- 
tor— Florence,  now  wife  of  T.  Levison  Gower,  Esq., 
whose  "  elegant  residence  ''  at  No.  2002  Fifth  Avenue 
we  have  already  admired. 

The  question,  how  a  man  made  his  fortune,  has  in 
our  days  not  only  a  commercial  but  a  psychological 
interest.  Society  has  never  had  any  objection  to  the 
sale  by  gentlefolk  of  themselves ;  but  it  is  only  of  late 
years  that  it  has  permitted  them  the  sale  of  anything 
else.  You  could  formerly  predicate  with  much  cer- 
tainty that  a  gentleman  who  had  money  had  either 


12  First  Harvests. 

inherited  it  or  married  it ;  now  the  problem  has  be- 
come more  complex.  Society  to-day  graciously  per- 
mits a  man  to  make  money ;  it  is  even  not  over-criti- 
cal as  to  the  means  ;  and  we  may  almost  look  forward 
to  the  time  when  a  man  who  has  gone  down-town  to 
make  it  will  be  able  to  go  up-town  and  spend  it  him- 
self, and  not  vicariously,  by  his  grandchildren.  This 
was  not  quite  the  case,  however,  when  Silas  Starbuck 
was  alive ;  and  this  fact  had  a  very  important  bearing 
on  Mrs.  Gower's  life.  Old  Starbuck,  as  you  know, 
made  his  money,  not  only  by  the  refinement  of  oil, 
but  also  by  selling  his  oil  when  refined — a  fact  society 
could  hardly  overlook. 

Si  Starbuck  was  generally  thought  the  weakest,  as 
he  was  the  youngest,  of  the  four  sons  of  old  Captain 
Starbuck,  who  commanded  for  many  years  the  brig 
Loan,  and  then  the  ship  Fair  Helen,  both  clearing 
from  Old  Town  in  the  island  of  Martha's  Vineyard. 
Thaddeus,  Obed,  and  Seth  were  all  older  brothers, 
who  lived  and  grew  to  be  captains  in  their  day.  Si 
was  a  lazy  fellow  in  his  youth,  and  unadventurous  ; 
he  usually  kept  snug  to  the  ship,  and  if  he  ever  went 
aloft  willingly,  it  was  to  get  the  five-dollar  reward  that 
the  owners  paid  the  man  who  first  discovered  a  blow. 
Si  was  quick  enough  at  seeing  things,  and  was  much 
curled  by  his  brothers — perhaps  more  for  this  one  ex- 
cellence than  for  his  many  shortcomings.  Silas  com- 
monly had  to  act  as  cook  and  general  swabber-out ; 
all  the  same,  he  managed  to  keep  a  sound  skin  to  his 
body,  and  had  more  time  for  reading  than  the  rest. 
At  home,  when  the  Starbuck  family  got  together 


The  Silas  Star  buck   Oil  Company.      13 

about  the  fire  with  the  older  men,  emeriti,  who  stayed 
at  home  and  swapped  stories,  Silas  was  the  cyni- 
cal listener  to  their  yarns  of  risk  of  life  and  capital. 
Even  when  they  told  the  history  of  the  great  three- 
thousand-barrel  sperm  take  of  '38,  from  Fairhaven, 
his  eyes  glistened  more  over  the  balance-sheet  than  at 
the  stories  of  their  doings  in  the  Pacific  when  the 
whales  were  killed.  So,  naturally  enough,  when  Silas 
got  his  time,  he  left  the  ship  and  drifted  over  to  the 
continent,  going  first  to  New  Bedford,  where  he  began 
refining  the  materials  which  his  brothers  found. 

The  event  justified  his  sagacity.  None  of  his  broth- 
ers made  fortunes  ;  Thaddeus  was  killed  by  a  black- 
fish  in  the  Northern  Pacific,  and  Seth  died  of  the 
scurvy  in  Hudson's  Bay.  When  Silas  began  to  be 
really  successful  in  New  York,  he  kept  up  little  in- 
tercourse with  his  brothers.  Mrs.  Gower  does  not 
remember  them  at  all ;  so,  at  all  events,  she  tries  to 
think,  though  she  had  one  great  scare.  In  '64,  just 
as  she  was  beginning  to  think  of  her  coming  out  in 
society,  her  uncle  Obed,  then  a  hale,  grizzled  old  fel- 
low of  sixty  winters  (most  of  which  were  Arctic  ones), 
made  himself  very  prominent  by  resisting  a  Confeder- 
ate cruiser  with  harpoons  and  a  couple  of  bomb-lance 
guns.  This  was  a  terrible  event  for  pretty  Miss  Flos- 
sie, as  it  got  into  all  the  papers,  making  quite  a  hero 
of  poor  old  uncle  Obed ;  and  several  of  her  father's 
friends  had  no  more  savoir  faire  than  to  speak  of  the 
old  whaleman  as  her  father's  brother  at  a  dinner- 
party. However,  uncle  Obed  never  troubled  them  in 
New  York;  and  shortly  after  her  marriage  (to  which 


14  First  Harvests. 

he  had  been  invited  by  cards  accidentally  mailed  only 
two  days  before  the  wedding)  he  died,  to  her  inex- 
pressible relief;  whether  childless  or  not,  she  never 
troubled  herself  to  inquire.  Now,  however,  Mrs. 
Gower  speaks  with  much  pride  of  her  brave  old  sea- 
faring ancestors. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  all  the  virtue  of  the  race, 
as  well  as  all  their  wealth,  is  now  vested  in  Mrs. 
Gower  and  her  brother,  Howland  Starbuck.  The 
wealth  has  but  gilded  the  wings  on  which  she  soared ; 
her  virtues  were  her  own, 


CHAPTER  IT. 

FLOSSIE    STARBUCK  ASPIRES. 

JHERE  was  a  time  when  Mrs.  Gower  was 
not  fashionable.  It  is  necessary,  for  our 
purpose,  to  go  back  to  these  dark  ages. 
Her  maidenhood  was  passed  in  unobtru- 
sive splendor  behind  a  frowning  brown-stone  front 
on  a  cross  street  only  two  doors  from  Fifth  Ave- 
nue. This  house  was  one  of  a  thousand :  nine  hun- 
dred and  ninety-nine  other  New  York  houses  were 
just  like  it.  Here  old  Silas  Starbuck  for  his  twenty 
last  years,  led  an  even  life,  torpid .  in  his  undigested 
gold.  Here  Miss  Florence  pressed  her  girlish  nose 
against  the  window-pane  to  stare  at  the  opposite 
houses  and  wonder  who  the  inmates  were,  and 
whether  their  lives  were  like  to  hers ;  or  she  strained 
her  large  eyes  sideways  to  reach  the  perspective  of 
morning  ash-barrels,  reaching  in  either  direction  to 
the  avenue  beyond.  She  did  not  then  even  know 
that  brown-stone  fronts  were  expensive,  when  she 
looked  and  speculated  so  wearily  upon  them. 

A  little  later  she  began  to  speculate  upon  the  peo- 
ple in  them,  and  wonder  more  particularly  about 
them,  as  she  saw  them,  when  coming  from  church, 
meet  each  other  on  the  avenue  and  bow.  No  one  ever 


1 6  First  Harvests. 

bowed  to  them ;  though  sometimes  an  oldish  man 
would  stop  and  speak  to  her  father.  It  was  at  this  time 
that  it  occurred  to  her  to  read  books  ;  and  she  became 
romantic,  and  would  dream,  after  the  manner  of  dem- 
ocratic maidens,  of  some  courtly  suitor,  some  young 
prince,  who  would  fall  in  love  with  her,  and  give  her 
rare  old  family  jewels  and  take  her  to  court  balls. 

This  era  lasted  but  a  short  time  with  Florence  Star- 
buck,  for  she  was  very  clever  and  sensible,  even  as  a 
girl.  She  soon  learned  to  fix  her  ambitions  on  pos- 
sible things.  And,  indeed,  she  had  no  envy  for  the 
impossible.  She  soon  learned  to  covet  only  those 
goods  which  her  neighbors  possessed,  according  to  our 
practical  version  of  the  commandment,  that  "thou 
shalt  not  hanker  after  the  ideal."  There  was  a  certain 
clumsy  accord  of  motive  between  old  Starbuck  and 
his  daughter,  but  he  was  far  from  appreciating  her  re- 
finement of  desire,  .or  fancying  what  high  things  went 
on  in  his  daughter's  pretty  head  when  the  weekly 
"  Home  "  paper  dropped  from  her  idle  hands,  and  she 
sat  knitting  her  virginal  white  brow  for  longing  of  the 
world.  He  had  really  only  known  himself  to  be  rich 
a  short  time ;  and  the  brown  facade  which  kept  him 
from  the  fashionable  street  still  seemed  to  him  the 
acme  of  earthly  ambition,  as  the  printed  list  of  chari- 
table benefactors  did  of  heavenly.  Wealth  had  come 
very  suddenly  when  it  did  come  ;  and  he  felt  it  hard 
that  his  wife,  of  whom  he  had  been  fond  in  a  certain 
way,  had  not  lived  to  enjoy  it.  He  had  married  her 
in  old  New  Bedford  days  ;  and  she  had  died,  shortly 
after  Florence's  birth,  in  the  New  York  house.  Mrs. 


Flossie  Star  buck  Aspires.  17 

Govver  often  thought,  with  something  like  a  shudder, 
of  what  she  might  have  been,  had  her  mother  lived. 
Mrs.  Gower,  like  most  of  us,  had  thoughts  that  she 
admitted  to  others,  thoughts  she  admitted  to  herself, 
and  thoughts  she  admitted  to  no  one,  not  even  her- 
self ;  and  this  was  one  of  the  last. — Do  not  think  her 
hard-hearted  ;  she  is,  with  all  her  faults,  one  of  the  best- 
hearted  people  in  the  world,  for  one  so  clever.  Sat- 
isfy her  ambition,  and  she  is  good-nature  itself;  and 
she  hates  to  do  an  ill-natured  thing,  even  to  her  ene- 
mies. Florence,  by  the  way,  was  a  name  she  owed  to 
the  mercy  of  her  mother ;  old  Starbuck  would  have 
called  her  Nancy,  as  he  had  called  her  brother,  Silas. 
Fortunately,  in  his  case,  Mrs.  Starbuck  got  in  the 
Howland  from  a  maternal  grandfather  ;  and  he  is  now 
S.  Howland  Starbuck,  Esq.,  in  the  advertisements  of 
companies — Mr.  Howland  Starbuck  on  his  card. 

Of  course  Flossie  went  to  a  fashionable  school  on 
Fifth  Avenue,  where  she  chose  her  friends  judicious- 
ly, and  it  was  at  this  time  that  she  began  to  read 
books.  She  derived  much  profit  from  books,  and 
has  always  owed  much  to  them  ;  even  now  she  reads 
a  little,  as  an  old  habit  not  quite  outgrown.  I 
don't  know  what  it  was  fired  her  maidenly  ambition ; 
"  Lucille "  had  not  been  written  then,  nor  Ouida's 
works,  but  I  doubt  there  was  something  similar. 
And  it  was  certainly  books  that  gave  her  her  first  ink- 
ling of  a  beau  monde.  She  used  to  be  very  generous 
among  the  girls,  her  schoolmates,  but  never  sought  to 
take  the  lead  among  them,  and  was  only  known  as  a 
rather  nice  little  thing  from  Eighteenth  Street.  She 


1 8  First  Harvests. 

never  even  tried  to  make  their  brothers'  acquaintance, 
which  was  duly  ascribed  on  their  part  to  her  proper 
sense  of  the  fitness  of  things.  The  brothers  were 
more  interested  in  her.  Once  she  was  asked  to  spend 
a  week's  vacation  with  Miss  Brevier ;  but  she  never 
invited  any  of  her  school  friends  to  her  own  house. 
If  she  had  not  been  so  clever,  she  might  almost  have 
become  popular.  As  you  see,  Flossie  learned  much  at 
school ;  but  she  took  away  more,  and  most  of  all  she 
had  carried  thither  with  her. 

In  her  maiden  meditation,  Miss  Starbuck  gave 
much  and  serious  thought  to  what  could  be  done  with 
her  father  and  brother.  Silas,  Jr.,  was  a  big,  large- 
boned  fellow  with  a  heavy  jaw  ;  thick  as  to  legs  and 
head;  in  whom  the  family  traits  came  out  with  pecu- 
liar coarseness,  much  as  when  you  raise  a  mullein  in  a 
garden.  The  effect  of  wealth  had  been  to  produce 
him  with  greater  luxuriance  and  less  pruning,  in  more 
size  and  even  coarser  fibre.  However  false  may  be 
this  analogy,  there  is  no  doubt  that  his  brave  old 
uncle,  who  had  struggled  with  famine  and  the  setting 
ice  in  Arctic  seas,  belonged  to  a  much  finer  type  of 
manhood.  Fortunately,  as  Miss  Flossie  reflected, 
there  were  no  ethics  in  the  question.  Fashion  asks 
no  awkward  questions.  Style,  in  the  year  1868,  in 
New  York,  of  all  the  cardinal  virtues,  was  perhaps 
the  easiest  to  attain.  They  had  the  money — if  she 
could  screw  it  out  of  Mr.  Starbuck. 

There,  however,  came  the  first  difficulty.  Not  that 
Mr.  Starbuck  did  not  fully  sympathize  with  her  aims, 
so  far  as  he  understood  them ;  but  it  was  difficult 


Flossie  Star  buck  Aspires.  19 

to  make  him  understand  them  all.  She  soared  in 
higher  circles.  For,  remember,  Flossie,  like  most  New 
England  girls,  had  a  natural  refinement  of  her  own. 
And  she  was  very  pretty — petite  in  figure,  then,  with 
a  most  delicious  little  face,  a  face  with  a  thousand 
lights  and  no  definite  expression.  Her  eyes  though 
— her  eyes  were  expressive  ;  there  was  an  archness,  a 
directness,  and  a  certain  dewy  softness. — Flossie  soon 
learned  that  she  must  be  careful  of  her  eyes,  and  only 
use  them  on  great  occasions.  It  was  one  of  her  many 
studies,  out  of  school,  how  to  make  them  look  de- 
mure ;  particularly  before  older  women — older  wom- 
en, stout  in  figure,  who  would  set  their  heads  back  on 
their  comfortable  shoulders  and  gaze  at  her,  through 
double  eye-glasses,  with  the  liberty  of  age. — At  such 
times  Flossie  used  to  drop  a  sort  of  curtain  over  those 
eyes  of  hers  and  look  straight  before  her.  She  was 
secretly  afraid  of  these  older  ladies  ;  and  this  helped 
her,  for  she  really  became  embarrassed. 

But  to  return  to  Mr.  Starbuck.  He  was  willing  to 
live  in  an  expensive  street,  and  even  to  keep  a  costly 
carriage,  in  an  expensive  stable,  with  a  cobble-stone 
court-yard,  at  eight  dollars  the  cobble-stone,  and  put 
his  name  in  three  figures  on  subscription-papers ;  but 
there  his  liberality  stopped.  This  was  all  very  well  ; 
and  Flossie  used  the  carriage  to  go  to  Stewart's  and 
shop,  and,  on  rainy  "  Sabbaths,"  for  the  church.  But 
old  Starbuck,  who  spent  the  income  of  a  hundred 
thousand  in  facade,  would  have  thought  himself  a 
Sardanapalus  if  seventy-five  cents  a  day  had  gone  for 
a  pint  of  claret.  Frequently  they  even  dined  without 


2O  First  Harvests. 

soup  ;  and  all  wines,  in  old  Starbuck's  mind,  were 
grouped  under  the  generic  name  of  Rum.  Mr.  Star- 
buck  had  no  aesthetic  objection  to  rum — rather  the 
contrary — but  he  thought  it  not  respectable,  and  kept 
his  tastes  in  that  direction  as  a  private  sin.  On  days 
when  the  minister  dined  with  them  a  decanter  of 
pale  sherry  was  brought  out — a  species  of  rum  sancti- 
fied, as  it  were,  by  church  use,  and  not  expensive. 
Mr.  Starbuck's  evenings  were  devoted  to  slippers  and 
snores.  Certainly,  no  poor  girl  had  ever  more  un- 
promising material  to  work  on.  Flossie  felt  that,  at 
best,  her  father  could  be  little  more  than  a  base  of 
supplies  ;  she  could  never  use  him  for  attack. 

Improbable  as  it  might  seem,  Miss  Starbuck  de- 
cided that  her  social  salvation  rested  with  her  unlike- 
ly brother  Silas.  The  discovery  of  the  possible  use 
of  so  clumsy  an  instrument,  at  her  age,  must  be  reck- 
oned a  master-stroke.  An  awkward  schoolboy,  he 
had  met  certain  other  youths  whom  Flossie  felt  she 
would  like  to  know ;  with  some  of  them  had  gone 
skating  or  played  games  in  the  streets.  Flossie  en- 
couraged her  father  to  give  him  plenty  of  pocket- 
money  ;  he  was  only  a  year  older  than  she,  and  she 
might  be  expected  partially  to  fill  her  mother's  place. 
It  was  to  her  that  he  owed  his  horse  and  buggy; 
this  was  before  the  days  of  dog-carts.  Sometimes  he 
would  bring  his  friends  home  in  the  evening ;  she 
would  discourage  their  coming  to  dinner,  but  would 
throw  her  influence  with  his  to  favor  anything  that 
could  be  reasonably  accorded  at  other  times;  and 
Flossie  would  excuse  it  to  her  father  when  they  stayed 


Flossie  Starbuck  Aspires.  21 

a  little  late,  or  would  shut  the  doors  between  Si's 
upper-floor  room  and  the  library  when  they  made  too 
much  noise.  Sometimes,  when  Si  lost  too  much  at 
vingt-et-un,  he  borrowed  of  his  sister;  and  she  was 
not  so  much  shocked  as  old  Starbuck  would  have  been. 
She  knew  that  young  men  would  be  young  men,  and 
that  Si  must  make  friends,  if  at  all,  by  his  pleasant 
social  vices  rather  than  his  father's  business  virtues. 
This  sounds  cynical ;  but  she  did  not  reason  it  out  in 
such  bald,  unpleasant  analysis — it  all  came  from  deli- 
cate feminine  intuition,  of  which  she  had  more  than 
her  share.  She  was  a  quick-witted  girl,  living  in  a 
great  city,  with  nothing  at  home  to  attract  her.  What 
else  could  she  think  about  ?  Her  vision  went  no 
farther  than  her  brown-stone  horizon.  She  was  not 
romantic ;  her  intellect  quite  over-balanced  her  emo- 
tional nature.  And  she  had  no  Browning  societies, 
and  had  never  read  Emerson  nor  Ruskin. 

At  nineteen  she  had  been  out  of  school  a  year,  but 
had  no  definite  launching  in  society.  She  looked 
much  younger,  being  as  immature  in  person  as  she 
was  the  contrary  in  mind.  She  saw  hardly  anyone 
except  her  school-girl  friends,  with  two  or  three  of 
whom  she  still  remained  intimate ;  they  were  kind  to 
her,  in  a  patronizing  way,  and  invited  her  to  their  own 
parties ;  sometimes  they  would  even  send  for  her,  at 
the  last  moment,  to  fill  a  vacant  place  at  a  dinner.  A 
few  of  her  friends'  brothers,  and  all  of  her  brother's 
friends,  had  been  attracted  by  her ;  none  of  them  knew 
her  well,  but  they  were  in  the  habit  of  joking  about 
her  when  alone.  Most  of  her  friends'  brothers  took 


22  First  Harvests. 

little  interest  in  her,  and  thought  her  slow.  But  then 
(said  their  sisters)  she  has  seen  so  little  of  the  world, 
poor  thing!  Flossie  felt  this,  too ;  but,  as  her  friends 
said,  she  was  an  unselfish  little  creature,  and  her  mind 
was  chiefly  occupied  with  a  sisterly  solicitude  for 
brother's  future.  She  would  have  liked  him  to  go  to 
college ;  but  he  did  not  share  his  sister's  wishes,  and 
the  father  utterly  disapproved  of  it.  He  considered 
the  college-bred  man,  when  successfully  perfected,  as 
a  pretty  poor  article ;  and  college  itself  as  a  place 
where  young  men  learned  to  drink  and  smoke,  and 
spent  their  money  in  buggy-hire  and  billiards,  unbe- 
known to  their  fathers.  He  insisted  on  Si's  going 
into  the  office  ;  and  Si,  having  finished  school,  did  in 
fact  spend  a  portion  of  his  mornings  in  that  nursery 
of  millions,  his  afternoons  in  the  park  or  elsewhere, 
and  his  evenings  over  cards  or  at  Academy  balls,  or 
elsewhere  again,  all  unbeknown  to  his  father.  It  was 
at  this  time  that  Si  picked  up  that  fine  knowledge  of 
life  which  fitted  him,  as  a  man  of  the  world,  to  take, 
afterward,  so  prominent  a  position  in  society. 

There  is  no  unlucky  accident  which  an  adroit  per- 
son may  not  turn  to  happy  advantage.  Si  might 
never  have  been  a  success  in  literary  circles ;  but  he 
began  to  develop  quite  a  popularity  among  young 
men  of  a  very  good  set.  At  this  time  it  was  by  no 
means  necessary  for  a  New  York  fashionable  to  be 
liberally  educated.  And  young  Starbuck  had  several 
valuable  accomplishments — he  was  a  good  whip,  and 
soon  became  a  tolerable  Vet  and  knew  every  jockey 
on  the  road  ;  he  played  a  capital  hand  at  poker,  and 


Flossie  Star  buck  Aspires.  23 

told  stories  and  talked  slang  with  a  certain  pungent 
humor  of  his  own  ;  and  he  could  even  thrum  an  ac- 
companiment on  a  banjo.  He  was  blessed  with  perfect 
health,  large  appetites,  plenty  of  money ;  sparred 
well  ;  was  both  stupid  and  good-natured,  and  had 
all  the  other  elements  of  greatness.  Fortunately,  Flos- 
sie had  no  very  clear  idea  of  what  Si  did  with  his 
friends ;  and,  secretly,  her  respect  for  him  rose  when 
he  came  home  late  at  night  and  the  next  morning 
talked  familiarly  of  the  Duvals,  and  Lucie  Gower,  and 
"  Van."  ("  Van  "  was  Mr.  Killian  van  Kull,  of  the  Co- 
lumbian and  Piccadilly  clubs.)  It  was  at  this  period 
that  Si,  thanks  partly  to  the  intercession  of  his  sister 
attained  to  the  ownership  of  a  latch-key,  and  began 
to  come  home  very  late  indeed,  and  talk  mysteriously 
of  French  balls.  Flossie  had  a  very  vague  notion  what 
these  might  be ;  and  old  Starbuck  was  not  over-strict 
on  that  score.  He  would  have  thought  wine-bibbing 
infinitely  worse,  and  cards  a.shade  more  heinous  than 
either.  And,  in  fact,  he  was  not  insensible  to  Si's  so- 
cial successes.  True,  old  Starbuck  was  on  the  same 
board  of  directors  with  T.  L.  Gower,  Sr.,  and  one  of 
his  co-trustees  in  a  charity;  but  he  secretly  felt — all 
democrat  in  a  democracy  that  he  was — he  secretly 
felt  it  a  much  greater  triumph  in  his  career  that  young 
Gower  and  his  son  should  get  drunk  together.  This 
is  a  coarse  way  of  putting  it ;  let  us  hasten  through 
the  beginnings  of  things  and  get  out  where  we  may 
see  the  stars  once  more. 


CHAPTER  III. 

FLOSSIE   STARBUCK  ATTAINS. 

LEVISON  GOWER,  JR.,  the  Perseus  to 
our  Andromeda,  that  angel  who  was  to 
take  Flossie's  hand  and  lift  her  with  him 
to  a  higher  sphere,  was  a  pallid  young 
man  with  a  long  nose,  a  short  forehead,  a  thin  neck, 
and  a  prominent  Adam's  apple.  Large  noses  are 
aristocratic ;  and  Gower  valued  his  as  typical  of  his 
pure  Dutch  blood.  It  was  disappointing,  though, 
after  so  fine  a  beginning,  to  find  his  brow  retreat  in  a 
rapid  little  slope;  and  then,  taking  a  quick  round 
curve,  to  find  your  eye  resting  on  the  nape  of  his  neck 
almost  before  you  knew  it.  Horizontally  lying  across 
his  forehead  was  a  deep  crease,  perhaps  three  inches 
long,  running  half  an  inch  below  the  line  of  the  hair 
and  half  an  inch  above  the  abutment  of  his  nose;  this 
line  did  duty  for  determination  and  thought.  The 
mouth  and  chin  were  large  again.  With  this  kind  of 
face,  Gower  at  twenty-two  looked  virile  and  worldly, 
and  at  five-and-thirty  he  looked  twenty-two.  What 
more  can  be  said  of  him  ?  His  trousers  never  showed 
the  impression  of  his  knees,  though  his  legs  were  long 
and  thin  ;  and  there  was  more  definite  expression  in 
the  pattern  of  his  colored  shirt  than  of  his  face.  This 
was  before  the  fashion  of  scarf-pins ;  but  he  now 


Flossie  Starbtick  Attains.  25 

wears — and  would  then  have  worn — a  glass  head  of 
a  bull-dog  in  a  light-checked  satin  scarf.  Gower's 
ideas  hardly  ever  change,  which  is  fortunate  for  his 
peace  of  mind,  and  his  tastes  never,  which  is  fortu- 
nate for  his  wife.  Yet,  were  you  to  introduce  young 
Gower  anywhere  (in  American  society,  of  course),  the 
answer  would  be  wreathed  in  smiles — Mr.  Gower,  of 
New  York,  I  suppose  ?  And  in  Flossie  Starbuck's  mind 
these  three  words  would  have  been  fit  climax  for  any- 
thing, from  the  caption  of  a  tomb  to  a  Newport  hotel- 
register — Levison  Gower,  of  New  York.  It  was  as 
Randolph  of  Roanoke.  Crude  as  Flossie  Starbuck's 
notions  were,  she  was  fortunate  enough  to  aim  high 
the  first  time. 

Gower  first  knew  her  brother  in  Eighteenth  Street, 
where  they  used  to  play  games  together  Saturday 
afternoons.  Si  was  physically  stronger  than  young 
Gower,  and,  from  the  first,  inspired  him  with  respect. 
Gower  had  not  at  this  time  learned  his  own  advan- 
tages, and  Starbuck  used  to  treat  him  quite  cavalierly. 
This  rough  patronage  produced  a  respectful  affection 
which  years  could  not  efface ;  and  when  they  next 
were  thrown  together,  owing  to  a  similarity  of  tastes 
in  roads  and  equipages,  Si  was  still  fortunate  enough 
to  remain  the  passive  member  in  the  friendship.  This 
intimacy  was  further  cemented  in  ways  before  indi- 
cated ;  and  very  soon,  Gower,  finding  Starbuck  a 
pleasant  companion  at  wine-suppers  and  popular  at 
public  balls,  bethought  himself  of  bringing  him  home 
to  dinner  and  introducing  him  to  his  sisters.  Si  was 
too  stolid  to  show  embarrassment,  and  his  physical 


26  First  Harvests. 

presence  carried  him  through  anything.  The  Misses 
Gower  rather  liked  him  ;  here  was  a  man  who  was 
rich  and  manly,  and  yet  made  them  feel  their  own  su- 
periority. Even  the  great  Killian  van  Kull,  Gower's 
popular  and  accomplished  cousin,  took  a  fancy  for  Si. 
"Buck"  Starbuck,  as  he  dubbed  him,  began  to  be 
popular.  Here  was  a  man  who  could  gamble  and 
fight,  who  was  ready  for  anything  at  night,  and  never 
ill-natured  nor  headachy  the  day  after.  Both  Kill 
van  Kull  and  Si  had  health,  animal  spirits,  and  a  taste 
for  dissipation  ;  and  little  Lucie,  as  they  were  accus- 
tomed to  call  Levison  in  the  intimacy  of  the  trio,  soon 
became  their  very  admiring  and  submissive  dependent. 
Thus  Si  had  the  luck  to  start  in  life  with  two  of  the 
most  valuable  friends  a  young  man  could  have  had ; 
for  Kill  van  Kull  represented  fashion  and  popularity, 
and  Gower  position  and  wealth.  So  he  passed  his 
first  five  years  after  leaving  school,  when  he  was  sup- 
posed to  be  in  business,  and  not  wasting  his  time  and 
money  in  college.  Old  Starbuck  would  have  winced, 
had  he  known  Si's  true  courses,  had  he  even  known 
as  much  as  Flossie  did  ;  but,  after  all,  young  Starbuck 
was  building  better  (in  this  world's  way)  than  even 
his  sister  knew. 

For  it  often  became  necessary  to  send  someone 
home  to  bring  Si's  clothes,  or  bear  his  excuses — he 
had  gone  up  the  Hudson  to  spend  Sunday  with  the 
Duvals,  or  on  a  yachting-trip  with  Kill  van  Kull ;  and 
it  was  often  inconvenient  for  him  to  leave  Kill  him- 
self. No  one  was  so  convenient  in  these  times  as 
Lucie  Gower;  and  he  was  good-natured,  and  could 


Flossie  Star  buck  Attains.  27 

easily  run  back  for  an  hour  or  two.  Besides,  if  Si 
had  gone,  he  might  sometimes  have  met  his  father, 
and  have  been  detained  peremptorily.  Thus  Gower 
became  a  sort  of  male  Iris,  a  messenger  between  pleas- 
ure and  duty ;  and  he  was  soon  familiar  with  the 
high,  empty  house  on  Eighteenth  Street.  He  usually 
saw  Flossie  at  these  times.  There  grew  to  be  a  sort 
of  understanding  between  the  two.  She  was  so  much 
cleverer  than  Gower  was  ;  and  she  knew  exactly  how 
to  face  old  Mr.  Starbuck.  And  Gower  learned  to 
have  confidence  in  her,  and  often  told  "  Buck  "  that 
his  sister  was  a  brick. 

"  Starbuck's  pretty  sister  "  was  getting  to  be  a  little 
better  known  among  the  young  men  now,  though  not 
unpleasantly  talked  of.  She  kept  very  quiet ;  and 
the  one  or  two  girls  that  knew  anything  about  her — 
Miss  Brevier,  for  instance — spoke  well  of  her.  Mean- 
time, Si  was  getting  on  with  the  fast  set,  that  set 
which  the  Duvals  and  old  Jake  Einstein  were  timidly 
forming  before  they  dared  dominate — the  set  which 
carried  the  tastes  of  the  French  shopkeeper  into  so- 
ciety. They  spent  much  money,  and  a  few  fashion- 
able hangers-on,  like  Van  Kull,  found  it  pleasant  to 
stand  under  the  golden  shower. 

Now  came  a  great  event  in  Si's  life.  Van  Kull  and 
Gower  found  it  tiresome  to  always  go  to  a  bar-room 
and  sit  on  hard  chairs  with  Si,  when  they  wanted  to 
drink  and  smoke  after  a  theatre  or  a  dance.  It  was 
proposed  that  Si  should  become  a  member  of  their 
club — the  Piccadilly,  of  Madison  Square.  And  in  a 
few  months  or  so  Si  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  his 


28  First  Harvests. 

name,  S.  Howland  Starbuck,  printed  in  the  blue  book 
of  that  fashionable  refuge  for  would-be  solitary  males. 
It  was  a  great  event  for  Si,  and  possibly,  also,  for 
his  father.  Old  Starbuck  knew  very  well  that,  al- 
though old  Mr.  Gower  was  a  member  and  colleague 
of  his  in  church  matters — affairs  of  the  other  world — 
he  never  would  have  gone  sponsor  for  him,  as  he  had 
for  his  son  Silas,  in  a  club  election  in  this.  Yet  this 
knowledge  did  not  offend  him  ;  he  was  glad  to  see 
his  son  Silas  rise  in  the  world,  and  bore  no  malice. 
Perhaps  he  was  even  pleased  that  his  son  could  go 
where  he  could  not.  It  was  right  that  Si  should  make 
friends,  and  perhaps  just  as  well  that  he  had  not  gone 
much  into  the  business,  after  all.  For  about  this  time 
the  oil  from  Oil  Creek  began  to  attract  attention  in 
the  markets.  Long  before — centuries  before — the  In- 
dians had  been  used  to  dip  their  blankets  along  the 
creek's  still  surface  until  they  were  thoroughly  satu- 
rated, and  then  to  obtain  the  oil  by  the  simple  process 
of  squeezing ;  for  the  oil  was  known  to  be  "  great  medi- 
cine" and  good  for  rheumatism,  sores,  and  troubled 
souls.  In  the  salt-wells  near  Pittsburg,  on  Saturday 
nights,  when  the  brine  was  well  pumped  away,  the 
miners  were  annoyed  by  the  increasing  flow  of  the 
green,  bad-smelling  stuff,  which  by  Monday  would 
have  disappeared,  pressed  back  by  the  new  flow  of 
brine  into  its  deep  crevices  in  the  subterranean  rock. 
But  no  one  had  thought  of  value  for  the  stuff — except 
the  few  quack  doctors  or  credulous  ones  who,  trusting 
to  the  old  Indian  legend,  skimmed  a  little  oil  from 
wooden  cribs  about  the  creek  and  sold  it  as  a  medi- 


Flossie  Starbuck  Attains.  29 

cine  of  nature's  patent,  in  the  Philadelphia  drug-stores, 
for  one  dollar  the  ounce.  At  this  price  the  fluid  was 
not  a  dangerous  competitor  with  Mr.  Starbuck's  prod- 
uct ;  and  even  when  one  of  these  same  Philadelphia 
druggists  analyzed  the  oil,  found  its  value,  and  made 
a  contract  for  the  output  of  one  of  the  salt-wells,  the 
only  effect  of  his  enterprise  was  to  ruin  its  value  as  a 
medicine  by  making  it  free  to  anyone  (like  those  other 
medicines  of  water,  air,  and  out-doors),  without  render- 
ing it  as  cheap  as  the  coal-oil  already  made  from  can- 
nel-coal.  Still,  the  flow,  once  begun,  did  not  cease; 
wells  were  sunk  whose  daily  flow  exceeded  the  capac- 
ity of  many  a  whale ;  already,  refining  whale  and 
sperm  was  not  what  it  had  been;  and  there  was  more 
competition  in  petroleum,  and  he  was  not  so  well 
situated  for  the  raw  material.  Old  Starbuck  began 
to  think  it  was  time  he  sold  out ;  the  works  had  been 
very  profitable,  and  the  expense  and  hazard  of  chang- 
ing machinery  and  clientele '  made  the  future  risky. 
Few  of  his  competitors  had  the  energy  to  make  the 
change,  the  process  of  refining  being  so  different,  but 
went  on  filtering  the  diminished  catch  of  whale  and 
sperm,  until  the  divine  law  of  the  survival  of  the  fit- 
test put  a  quietus  to  their  struggles.  By  all  this 
Starbuck  profited,  as  was  to  be  expected.  The  S. 
Starbuck  Oil  Company  was  formed ;  capital,  Two 
Millions ;  Starbuck  himself  remaining  one  of  the  di- 
rectors. The  business  and  works  were  then  supposed 
to  be  worth  about  $800,000.  One-half  the  capital  was 
paid  up,  and  $800,000  of  it  paid  to  S.  Starbuck,  Esq., 
for  the  works,  machinery,  business,  and  good-will;  be- 


30  First  Harvests. 

sides  this  cash,  Starbuck  received  $800,000  in  stock  of 
the  new  company  at  its  face  value.  The  stock  was 
then  considered  worth  par,  and  he  was  shrewd  enough 
to  keep  it  always  well  above  eighty;  in  fact,  he  con- 
tinued to  manage  the  concern  for  a  year  or  two,  and 
was  even  so  clever  as  to  get  it  back  to  a  healthy  basis, 
although  he  had  first  watered  and  then  milked  it  to 
the  tune  of  a  million  and  a  quarter.  When  he  had 
succeeded  in  this,  he  sold  half  of  his  remaining  stock, 
all  he  could  safely  get  rid  of,  and  retired  absolutely 
from  business.  Eight  months  after  this,  his  work 
being  satisfactorily  finished,  to  himself,  in  this  world, 
he  left  it,  in  October,  1872.  In  April,  1873,  the  en- 
gagement of  Miss  Starbuck  and  Mr.  T.  Levison 
Gower,  Jr.,  was  formally  announced. 

People  were  much  surprised,  but  less  so  than  if 
Lucie  Gower  had  married  someone  of  whom  they 
knew  something.  Now  they  commonly  knew  noth- 
ing of  Flossie,  except  that  she  was  "  Buck"  Starbuck's 
sister.  Things  have  changed  since ;  and  Si  is  Mrs. 
Levison  Gower's  brother  now.  Miss  Brevier  was  de- 
lighted, and  went  about  telling  her  friends  that  Flossie 
was  a  perfectly  sweet  girl.  Silas  Starbuck's  friends 
commonly  said  "  By  Jove  !  "  among  themselves,  and 
nothing  when  Si  was  present.  Flossie  was  already 
twenty-four,  and  had  been  generally  supposed,  as 
much  on  account  of  this  as  of  her  retired  life,  not  to 
be  about  to  marry.  Still,  there  were  few  ill-natured 
comments  about  it.  Her  modesty  did  her  a  good  turn 
here.  And  no  one  much  envied  her  young  Gower, 
except  for  his  wealth ;  and  she  had  plenty  of  that. 


Flossie  Star  buck  Attains.  31 

The  Gowers  themselves  looked  more  askance  at  the 
match.  After  all,  it  was  their  family  that  she  was  go- 
ing to  marry  into.  And  she  might  have  many  rela- 
tions. Only  old  Gower,  seeing  that  she  had  the  es- 
sentials, had  the  sense  to  accept  the  thing  from  the 
first.  He  knew  that  his  social  position  was  a  rock  on 
which  a  fair  structure  might  be  built  with  her  money. 
Old  Gower  had  come  to  New  York  about  1830  from 
one  of  the  hill-towns  in  Northwestern  Connecticut ; 
and  had  first  been  known  as  engaged  in  the  banking 
business,  with  one  of  the  Lydams  as  his  partner.  It 
was  a  Miss  Lydam  whom  he  married.  He  was  very 
rich,  or  had  that  reputation ;  and  was  a  prominent 
magnate  in  one  of  the  largest  evangelical  denomina- 
tions. There  he  had  met  and  known  and  appreciated 
old  Starbuck.  He  was  not  sorry,  however,  that  that 
gentleman  was  dead.  Mr.  Gower  felt  toward  him 
much  as  a  ci-dcvant  marquis  might  have  felt  toward 
the  rich  farmer-general  father  of  his  daughter-in-law. 
Mr.  Gower  lived  in  the  most  democratic  city  of  a 
democracy ;  but  a  democracy  lends  itself  to  sudden 
and  extreme  social  distinctions.  The  imaginary  line, 
drawn  hap-hazard,  must  be  drawn  all  the  deeper  to 
endure  a  decade.  A  society  which  has  no  Pyrenees 
must  give  an  extra  attention  to  the  artificial  forts  of 
its  boundaries.  Old  Mrs.  Gower  felt  deeply  these 
truths.  She  knew  that  Mr.  Starbuck  had  been  in 
oil ;  but  she  also  said  to  herself  that  her  son  would 
raise  Flossie  to  his  own  level.  What  that  level  was 
we  have  seen. 

Meanwhile,    the    two    lovers    were    very   happy. 


32  First  Harvests. 

Flossie  allowed  herself,  by  anticipation,  a  little  more 
style  in  dress.  She  appeared  with  young  Gower  in 
his  buggy  in  the  park,  radiant,  and  really  very  pretty. 
Lucie  Gower's  friends  congratulated  him  boisterously, 
and  called  her  Flower-de-Luce — a  name  which  per- 
sisted ten  years  or  so,  until  some  savage  wit  changed 
the  Flower  to  Fruit.  She  was  then  still  slight ;  and, 
for  the  first  time,  dared  to  show  how  pretty  she  was. 
"  How  she  has  come  out  since  her  engagement !  "  was 
the  common  remark.  Indeed  she  had  ;  she  was  very 
happy ;  she  felt  as  if  she  had  been  born  anew,  into  a 
world  of  which  previously  she  had  only  seen  the 
brown-stone  front.  Gower  went  to  see  her  every  day  ; 
and  though  these  tete-a-tetcs  were  rather  long,  she  con- 
soled herself  with  the  idea  that  the  marriage  would 
soon  be  over.  He,  too,  was  impatient ;  and  very 
proud  of  her.  He  secretly  liked  to  have  his  friends 
dig  him  in  the  ribs — as  they  would  do,  with  Gower. 
He  had  never  possessed  any  girl,  before,  who  had  loved 
him  solely  for  himself ;  for  surely  there  was  nothing 
else  to  attract  Miss  Starbuck  ? — he  had  little  money. 
Lucie  felt  a  flattering  sense  of  ownership  in  this  fair 
creature  that  was  going  to  link  her  life  with  his.  The 
simple  fellow  was  touched  by  it ;  and  he  never  really 
ceased  to  be  in  love  with  her,  though  too  weak  to 
resist  temptation  in  any  simple  and  attractive  form. 
Si,  too,  was  immensely  delighted.  He  thought  Lucie 
little  better  than  a  fool ;  but  then,  he  was  just  the 
man  to  make  a  capital  husband.  And,  on  the  whole, 
he  would  not  be  a  disagreeable  brother-in-law.  How- 
ever, after  the  first  relief  and  contentment  of  the  thing 


Flossie  Starbuck  Attains.  33 

were  over,  and  Flossie  fairly  disposed  of,  it  no  longer 
concerned  Si  very  much. 

Never  was  a  marriage  so  happy,  or  the  course  of 
true  love  so  smooth.  There  was  a  delicious  excite- 
ment about  it  all  to  Gower ;  he  felt  as  if  he  had  mul- 
tiplied himself  by  four.  And  Flossie — Flossie's  feel- 
ings were  more  complex.  She  obtained  Miss  Bre- 
vier's services  as  a  bridesmaid  ;  and  it  was  arranged 
that  the  newly-married  couple  should  live  on  Fifth 
Avenue  at  the  corner  of  Thirty-second  Street.  The 
old  Starbuck  house  in  Eighteenth  Street  was  sold, 
and  Si  went  into  lodgings — as  he  had  long  desired. 

The  wedding-presents,  though  few  in  number,  were 
very  handsome ;  Flossie  had  the  satisfaction  of  see- 
ing her  wedding  under  the  head  of  "  Fashionable 
Weddings"  in  the  New  York  Herald ;  two  clergymen 
performed  the  ceremony ;  and  in  the  evening  the  bride 
and  groom  went  to  Boston.  After  a  fortnight  they 
returned  and  installed  themselves  in  the  Fifth  Ave- 
nue house,  which  had  been  elaborately  decorated  and 
extravagantly  furnished  for  their  coming.  Old  Mrs. 
Gower  gave  a  grand  reception  in  their  honor.  And 
about  the  same  time,  young  Gower  began  to  find 
himself  in  his  club-window,  sucking  his  cane,  and 
wondering  what  he  should  do  with  his  afternoon, 
very  much  as  usual.  He  puzzled  much  over  a  cer- 
tain feeling  he  had,  but  was  not  clever  enough  at  self- 
analysis  to  make  it  out.  But  it  was  as  if  the  theatre 
had  ended  too  early,  and  there  were  nothing  to  do 
with  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

Not  so  Mrs.  Gower. 
3 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ARTHUR  HOLYOKE'S  DREAMS. 

HEN  the  living  poet  and  the  dead  came 
out  to  see  the  stars  once  more,  the  Flor- 
entine found  himself  upon  a  grassy  slope, 
alone  in  the  early  morning,  with  his  silent 
guide.  So,  when  Tannhauser,  after  his  ten  years'  so- 
journ in  the  Venusberg,  broke  through  the  walls  of 
the  mountain  in  a  rift  made  by  a  prayer,  he  too  found 
himself  on  the  brow  of  a  green  and  sunny  mountain 
valley,  filled  with  the  long-forgotten  breath  of  morn- 
ing ;  and,  in  place  of  the  devil's  music,  a  shepherd 
piping  to  his  sheep.  So,  reader,  you  in  flesh  and 
blood,  as  I  hope,  may  follow  me,  in  the  story,  to  the 
time  of  dates  and  daylight,  and  a  place — the  time, 
September,  1883  ;  the  place,  the  village  of  Great  Bar- 
rington,  far  down  in  Berkshire  in  old  Massachusetts. 
The  early  morning  shadows  still  reached  long  across 
the  green  carpet  of  meadow  in  the  intervale ;  the 
shadows  of  the  houses,  and  of  the  great  masses  of  elm 
foliage,  and  of  the  tall  spire  of  the  meeting-house  up 
on  the  hill  ;  the  undulating  masses  of  greenery  that 
robed  the  lower  hills  were  striped  here  and  there  with 
autumn  scarlet,  like  a  blackbird's  wing ;  and  the  sil- 
ver lace  in  the  meadow  grass,  and  the  long  silken  cob- 


Arthur  Holyokes  Dreams.  35 

webs  in  the  air,  and  the  rich  violet-blue  sky,  shading 
off  to  pink  like  an  onyx  near  the  horizon,  were  pre- 
cursors of  the  coming  glory  of  the  day. 

No  one  was  stirring  in  the  village.  In  the  ploughed 
uplands  a  few  farmers  were  idly  walking,  hither  and 
thither  like  generals  on  the  battlefield  of  their  success, 
tightening  a  sheaf  of  fodder  or  replacing  a  yellow 
squash  or  two  that  had  rolled  off  from  a  summit  of  the 
great  golden  pyramids  standing,  piled  like  cannon- 
balls,  in  the  cornfields.  But  the  day  of  sowing  was  over, 
and  the  day  of  reaping  was  over,  and  little  remained 
but  to  sit  and  look  at  the  crops  and  grow  fat.  Up  on 
the  hill,  the  roads  were  empty — who  should  travel 
when  there  was  no  need  ?  Even  the  plodding  oxen- 
teams  were  idle  in  their  stalls,  being  fattened  and 
coddled,  perhaps,  for  the  annual  cattle  show.  So  that 
Gracie  Holyoke  and  Arthur  had  the  beautiful  Stock- 
bridge  road,  and  the  morning  look  of  the  mountains, 
all  to  themselves.  They  rode  at  a  sharp  canter,  but 
with  little  conversation  ;  at  least,  so  a  groom  might 
have  thought  riding  behind  them ;  as  the  two  heads 
never  seemed  to  turn  inward.  But  there  was  no 
groom,  and  the  chestnut  horses  had  a  way  of  riding 
so  closely  side  by  side  (being  in  this  constantly 
drilled)  that  to  turn  one's  head  was  hardly  necessary. 

Were  these  two  in  love  ?  A  city  groom,  used  to 
ride  behind  many  a  preening  pair  in  their  smart  T- 
cart,  seasoned  and  wearied  with  his  master's  catechism 
of  flirtation,  which  he  had  so  often  overheard ;  being 
there  in  theory  to  play  propriety,  but  in  fact,  as  he 
well  knew,  only  as  a  license  to  flirt,  much  as  a  police- 


36  First  Harvests. 

man  is  stationed  in  the  Park  for  the  skating  when  the 
ice  is  thin — such  a  groom  would  have  said  No.  For 
they  hardly  ever  look  at  one  another.  But  perhaps 
an  older  groom,  good  dan  Cupid  himself,  the  blind 
passenger  who  perches  like  dark  care  on  so  many  a 
horse's  back,  and  drives  dark  care  away — he  might 
answer  Yea :  for  they  are  not  flirting. 

Now,  there  are  several  legitimate  states  of  being  in 
love,  as  videlicet,  to  be  in  love  and  know  it,  to  be  in 
love  and  not  know  it,  to  know  that  she  loves  you  and 
to  think  that  you  love  her,  to  be  in  love,  but  with  an- 
other person  than  the  one  you  think  : — but  to  know 
it  and  not  be  in  love  is  but  a  modern  and  puerile  in- 
tellectual trifling ;  this  we  call  flirtation.  And  in  that 
these  two  were  surely  not.  Were  they  then  simply 
indifferent  to  one  another  ?  Unlikely — so  early  in  the 
morning.  And  surely,  the  cosmic  chances  are  all  in 
our  favor  :  is  it  not  the  normal  relation,  to  be  in  love  ? 
Given,  a  young  man  of  twenty-one  and  a  lovely  girl 
some  few  months  younger — and  the  uplands,  and  the 
forest,  and  the  sun,  moon,  stars,  storm  and  springtime 
— and  show  me  one  such  younker  not  in  love  and  you 
will  show  me  a  wretched  fellow  you  had  best  avoid. 

No  such  selfish  saint  or  sordid  sinner  can  this  slen- 
der Arthur  be,  who  turns  in  his  saddle  and  shows  the 
clear-cut  New  English  profile  with  the  delicate  but 
winning  smile.  But  see,  the  smile  has  faded  into 
earnestness ;  leaning  yet  farther  from  the  saddle,  he 
is  looking  up  into  his  companion's  face,.and  seeming 
to  be  searching  for  something  there.  Does  he  find  it  ? 
Ah,  Cupid,  good  dan  Cupid,  were  you  right  once 


Arthur  Holyokes  Dreams.  37 

more  ?  or  were  we  both  too  hasty — for  she  has  not 
blushed,  but  the  one  rounded  cheek  we  see,  as  we 
press  after  them,  grows  quickly  pale,  and  we  can  just 
make  out  the  dark  eye-lashes  that  droop  quickly 
down,  breaking  the  contour ;  and  now  they  do  not 
speak  again,  but  ride  at  the  run  in  mutual  silence — 
oh,  a  silence  that  is  surely  mutual,  if  ever  silence  was 
— and  we  have  much  to  do,  being  old  and  no  longer 
in  love,  to  keep  behind  these  two,  who  do  not  dally. 
This  was  all  that  happened  in  the  ride.  Only,  com- 
ing home,  and  both  dismounting  (she  without  waiting 
for  his  aid)  and  he  taking  her  hand  to  say  good  morn- 
ing (as  he  had  done  a  hundred  times  before,  that  very 
summer)  the  color  mounted  in  the  young  girl's  face 
(as  it  had  never  done  before)  so  that  she  turned  the 
face  aside  which  was  too  near  her  heart,  and  ran  in- 
doors in  haste  and  left  him  there. 

This  was  all  that  happened  on  that  ride — it  was  all 
that  had  ever  happened — but  in  it,  Arthur  Holyoke 
had  made  bold  to  ask  his  cousin  to  become  his  wife ; 
and  she  had  bade  him  wait  till  evening  for  his  an- 
swer ;  and  then  they  both  had  ridden  home.  A  city 
groom  would  have  seen  nothing  of  it  all ;  yet  these 
things  had  been  done.  A  short  probation,  you  will 
say,  until  the  evening  only;  and  Arthur  hardly 
thought  of  it  as  such,  but  walked  home  briskly,  hat  in 
hand,  castle-building ;  his  dark  gray  eyes  turned  in- 
ward, and  the  wind  making  free  with  his  curly,  un- 
decided-colored hair.  For  what  probation  was  there 
more,  after  all  their  lives  had  so  far  been  together, 
than  living  on  together,  man  and  wife  ?  Not  that 


38  First  Harvests. 

she  loved  him  then  so  much  as  he  loved  her — but 
that  was  to  be  expected.  She  loved  him  more  than 
he  deserved,  he  knew ;  but  then,  that  is  true  of  most 
pairs,  and  the  men  must  needs  not  waste  their  pity, 
but  resign  themselves,  as  it  is  the  way  of  women. 
And  Arthur  walked  along  the  straight  garden  path 
that  led  from  door  to  highway  in  Judge  Holyoke's  old 
place,  switching  off  the  prim  asters  with  his  riding- 
cane.  For  his  uncle's  house  was  built  in  the  days  of 
gardens,  not  of  lawns — can  we  not  imagine  the  large 
contempt  with  which  the  dwellers  of  a  prairie  would 
regard  a  barbered  rood  or  two  of  grass  ? — and  the 
flowers  were  part  of  Gracie's  presence  there,  and  she 
of  them. 

Arthur  was  not  too  stout,  but  strong  and  graceful, 
almost  Greek  in  figure  as  in  face ;  a  strange,  strong 
scion  of  that  narrow-chested  clergyman-father,  so 
stout  in  spirit,  but  so  fragile  in  this  world,  who  had 
died  and  left  him  to  his  uncle's  care,  the  Judge. 
There  are  many  such  :  it  seems  our  people  (like  some 
mute,  inglorious  poet)  have  had  their  period  of  pale 
and  interesting  youth,  and  now  are  comfortably  stout 
and  genial,  in  their  easy-going  middle  age,  the  wast- 
ing spiritual  fires  quelled  :  like  a  sometime  tractarian 
clergyman,  now  optimistic  in  a  fat  living.  Arthur, 
however  (not  to  carry  the  analogy  too  far),  was  spiri- 
tual enough  in  his  way,  though  not  the  orthodox ; 
delicately  balanced,  mobile,  imaginative,  Celtic  more 
than  Saxon,  and  rather  Greek  than  either.  Nor 
could  you  truly  say  that  his  way  wanted  depth,  unless 
depth  means  sluggishness  or  stillness.  Arthur  was  a 


Arthur  Holyoke  s  Dreams.  39 

New  Englander,  and  New  England  is  in  reality  the 
essence  of  all  things  American,  in  germ  and  future ; 
and  the  people,  the  crowds,  are  already  rather  Greek 
than  English.  Irreverent,  fond  of  novelty  and  quick 
— in  politics,  if  not  in  art,  they  are  Athenian.  The 
public  of  Aristophanes  is  the  public  of  the  American 
burlesque  ;  of  lions,  fair  ladies,  lecturers ;  of  advertised 
politics,  priests  and  prophets,  of  the  mind-cure  and  of 
the  secular  Sunday  newspaper. 

Arthur  Holyoke  had  been  brought  up  by  the  Judge, 
chiefly  on  the  simple  plan  of  keeping  him  in  the  coun- 
try and  giving  him  plenty  of  books ;  a  most  admir- 
able plan,  never  to  be  enough  recommended.  The 
Judge  spent  his  winters  in  the  city ;  then  Arthur  was 
kept  at  boarding-school ;  one  of  those  quiet  little 
boarding-schools  of  the  wooden  Doric  variety,  now 
disappearing.  The  Judge  travelled  abroad,  or  went  to 
England  or  to  the  West,  every  summer;  Arthur  was 
left  at  Great  Harrington.  One  winter  Arthur  had 
passed  in  Boston  with  his  uncle,  and  had  attended 
lectures  at  the  Institute  of  Technology ;  it  was  the 
winter  that  Gracie  had  been  away  with  her  aunt  in 
New  York.  This  happened  in  one  of  these  years 
when  the  whim  of  Hellenism  seemed,  in  Boston,  to 
be  permanently  eclipsing  the  Hebraism  which  has 
really  made  that  city;  and  Arthur  was  intoxicated  by 
the  new  atmosphere,  as  a  hardy  wind-flower  might  be 
in  the  rich  sweet  air  and  tempered  light  of  a  grapery. 
You  do  not  make  grapes  of  blackberries  by  putting 
them  under  glass  ;  but  you  modify  them  considerably. 
If  you  had  asked  Arthur  what  was  to  be  his  profes- 


40  First  Harvests. 

sion,  he  would  have  answered  engineering;  but  his 
inward  consciousness  was  that  he  should  be  a  great 
poet.  But  he  knew  the  pitying  contempt  with  which 
the  world  regards  its  contemporary  failures — and  its 
contemporaries  are  always  failures — in  that  line  ;  and 
in  spite  of  his  assurance  that  he  had  it  in  him  (whilst 
others  had  not)  he  did  not  mean  that  it  should  be 
known  until  it  was  known  only  to  his  glory.  These 
dreams  had  blended  with  his  dreams  of  life  with 
Grade,  until  it  was  hard  to  say  which  was  more  the 
cause  and  which  the  effect ;  they  grew  apace  together. 
To-day  his  dreams  of  love  had  the  ascendant ;  and  he 
wandered  about  the  country  many  hours,  rapt  in  his 
love  and  her.  They  would  live  where  ?  in  the  city, 
of  course  ;  in  New  York,  where  was  the  largest  focus 
for  his  genius.  That,  too,  was  the  place  where  the 
most  rapid  fortune  was  to  be  made ;  for,  of  course, 
they  must  have  money,  and  the  money  must  be  made 
quickly,  that  he  might  get  his  leisure  and  return  to  his 
poetry  again.  For  this  was  to  be  the  ultimate,  the 
crown  of  his  life.  Engineering  would  not  do  ;  some 
quicker  way  than  this  must  be  found;  banking,  or 
railroads.  The  years  of  business  would  be  irksome, 
no  doubt ;  but  then,  with  Gracie  with  him ! 

So  the  boy  wandered,  through  the  afternoon,  work- 
ing many  a  gorgeous  variegation  on  the  themes  of 
love  and  fame ;  with  but  the  least  substratum  of  gold 
among  them,  as  if  to  give  strength  to  the  pigments  of 
his  fancy.  Meantime,  Gracie,  on  her  part,  had  been 
thinking,  now  happily,  now  in  shades  of  sadness, 
oftener  still  in  prayer.  Yet  she  went  about  the  house- 


Arthur  Holyokes  Dreams.  41 

hold  on  her  usual  duties,  passing  silently  like  the  day- 
light through  the  long  library,  where  the  old  Judge 
sat  over  his  briefs  and  closely-wrought  opinions,  nor 
ever  noticed  so  slight  a  thing  as  a  young  girl's  mood. 

Arthur  found  her  in  the  garden,  when  he  came,  in 
a  favorite  place  of  hers,  sitting  on  an  old  stone  seat  by 
the  little  brook,  where  it  was  most  densely  overshad- 
owed by  the  flowering  shrubs.  She  had  that  serious 
look  in  her  dark  eyes  which  he  loved  best  in  them, 
and  she  neither  blushed  nor  smiled  when  he  took  her 
hand  and  sat  him  down  beside  her.  Arthur  had  often 
fancied  that  at  this  time  a  flow  of  speech  worthy  of 
a  Petrarch  would  be  his;  but  as  it  was,  the  simplest 
words  alone  seemed  strong  to  him.  "  The  day  has 
seemed  so  long  to  me !  "  Perhaps  he  thought  it  true ; 
but  it  was  not.  The  day  had  seemed  short,  and  full 
of  dreams.  She  made  no  answer;  but,  in  a  moment, 
turned  her  head  and  looked  at  him,  gravely,  as  it 
seemed  to  Arthur,  fondly,  as  it  might  have  seemed  to 
an  older  man.  "  I  do  not  think  we  ought  to  be  en- 
gaged," she  said ;  and  this  he  could  not  make  her  un- 
say in  all  the  afternoon. 

But  the  old  tragicomedy  was  re-enacted,  which  is 
so  old,  and  will  seem  so  new  to  our  great-grandchil- 
dren ;  and  Arthur  knew,  at  the  first,  that  she  loved 
no  one  else ;  and  at  the  last,  he  knew,  or  might  have 
known,  that  she  loved  him.  But  the  yes  she  would 
not  say,  but  only,  wait ;  and  when  he  urged,  But  you 
may  care  for  some  one  else  ?  she  only  said,  "  I  shall 
care  for  no  one  else,  Arthur" — and  at  the  last  it  grew 
to  be  but  a  pleasant  play,  so  sure  he  was  of  her.  It 


42  First  Harvests. 

was  settled  between  them  that  he  was  to  go  to  New 
York  and  make  his  fortune  and  hers ;  and  that  then 
he  was  to  come  back  and  ask  her  father's  consent ;  or 
sooner  perhaps,  if  the  fortune  was  too  slow  in  coming. 
She  would  not  write  to  him,  she  said, — but  she  would 
answer  a  letter  now  and  then — and  he  kissed  her  once 
for  the  first  time,  under  the  old  lilac  bush,  before  they 
left.  And  more,  a  thousand  times  more,  he  felt  in  love 
with  her  than  he  had  even  been  that  morning  ;  and  so 
they  came  out  of  the  greenery  into  the  broad  sward 
with  the  long  slanting  shadows  of  the  sunset,  he  still 
holding  to  her  hand. 

They  were  close  on  the  Lenox  road  ;  and  he  had 
to  drop  her  hand  in  haste,  as  an  open  carriage  came 
swinging  by,  bearing  an  old  acquaintance  of  ours — 
Mrs.  Levison  Gower  and  a  guest  of  hers  from  Lenox. 
The  guest  must  have  made  some  quick  remark  to 
Mrs.  Gower  about  them  ;  for  they  both  turned  and 
looked  at  the  young  people,  and  she  bowed  to  Gracie ; 
and  then  the  light  wheels  whisked  by,  leaving  but 
the  dust,  and  the  crisp  sound  of  the  horses'  trot. 
Arthur  had  noticed  the  glance,  but  did  not  speak  of 
it ;  he  saw  that  Gracie  was  blushing  again.  He  for- 
got even  to  ask  who  Mrs.  Gower  was,  as  he  took 
Gracie's  hand  again  in  his  ;  and  together,  slowly,  they 
went  down  the  broad  garden-walk. 


CHAPTER  V. 

OF  GRACIE  HOLYOKE  AND  OF  HER   HEART. 

MAN'S  grand  life,  says  some  one,  is  a 
dream  of  his  youth  realized  in  and  by  his 
later  years ;  what  then  shall  we  say  of  a 
woman's  ?  Think  not  on  this ;  but  let 
your  soul  answer.  The  answer  should  be  there,  in 
the  hearts  of  all ;  but  whether  it  comes  from  memory, 
from  things  now  half  forgotten,  or  from  within,  or 
from  some  birth-dream  had  in  childhood,  who  shall 
say?  Yet  is  it  there  ;  like  a  child's  dream  of  a  star; 
happy  he  whose  manhood  sees  the  star,  its  dream 
not  yet  departed.  And  all  of  us  have  fancied  women 
so,  at  some  time  in  our  lives;  have  we  never  known 
one  such  ?  For  but  one  such  is  enough,  mother, 
bride,  or  daughter.  Some  slight  girl  whose  maiden- 
hood was  a  sweet  bloom,  like  Mary's  lily  in  the  Tem- 
ple ;  and  then  we  may  have  lost  sight  or  knowledge 
of  her,  for  a  time.  And  then  perhaps  we  have  met 
some  other  woman,  some  old  woman,  with  white 
hairs  ;  not  the  same,  of  course,  and  yet  it  seems  as  if 
we  could  have  pieced  together  their  two  lives  and 
make  them  like  one  brook,  that  we  have  known  in 
places  only,  which  brings  soft  fields  and  flowers. 
And  be  sure  that  there  was  in  between  some  woman- 
hood, some  mother's  life,  not  known  save  to  her  sons 


44  First  Harvests. 

and  God,  not  preached  in  meetings  and  conventions ; 
deep  hidden  in  some  human  fireside,  like  the  brook 
that  makes  so  green  a  summer  wood — Such  lives  are 
white  and  shining,  like  a  dream  of  God's  made  real 
on  the  earth. 

And  all  the  world  seems  thirst,  and  lust,  and  envy, 
and  desire  ;  the  fires  of  heaven  are  put  out,  and  all 
men  struggling,  trampling,  for  the  colored  stones  of 
earth ;  and  yet  such  blooms  do  come  upon  it.  But 
they  blossom  stilly,  like  silent  lilies  born  above  the 
meadow-mire.  White  and  pure  they  shine,  and 
breathe  in  heaven's  sunlight,  and  give  out  heaven's 
fragrance,  borne  each  upon  its  slender  stem  above  the 
blind,  black  bog. 

.The  day  after  this,  Gracie  had  an  errand,  up  in  a 
little  town  beyond  the  hills.  Arthur  asked  that  he 
might  go  there  with  her ;  then  they  both  might  ride 
instead  of  driving.  So  they  started,  after  luncheon  ; 
the  new  brown  leaves  lay  crisp  beneath  their  feet, 
and  the  light  that  flooded  the  valley  was  like  yellow 
wine.  Their  way  lay  up  over  the  hills  to  the  east- 
ward, and  then,  cresting  their  summits,  along  a  ram- 
bling grass-grown  road,  between  the  crumbling  stone 
walls  and  old  unpainted  farmhouses.  What  paint  the 
farmers  had  to  spare,  they  put  upon  the  barns ;  a 
poor  powdery  stuff,  weak  in  oil,  and  leaving  but  a 
brushing  as  of  red  earth  upon  the  seasoned  boards ; 
the  windows  of  the  farmhouses  looked  out  forlornly 
upon  the  fields  already  lonely,  grim  and  unrelieved 
by  any  curtain.  The  places  where  gardens  had  been 
used  to  be,  were  common  for  the  hens ;  along  the 


Of  Grade  Holyoke  and  of  Pier  Heart.     45 

fences  for  a  hundred  yards  on  either  side  of  every 
house  was  a  littering  of  chips  where  the  wood-piles 
had  been,  but  the  piles  were  scant  this  year,  and  of 
half-grown  birch ;  the  reason  was  easy  to  see,  for  the 
great  hills  rolled  off  around  them  denuded  of  timber, 
save  here  and  there  a  new  growth  of  scrub  oak.  Be- 
side each  house  the  old  well  stood,  its  sweep  pointing 
to  the  sky,  but  now  disused  and  replaced  by  a  patent 
log-pump,  painted  a  garish  blue. 

Arthur  rode  very  close  to  Gracie  to-day  ;  there  was 
an  exhilarating  space  and  sweep  to  the  free  wind  that 
brought  bright  color  to  their  cheeks,  and  their  clear 
eyes  sparkled  as  their  glances  soared  far  over  the  brown 
downs  and  rested  with  delight  upon  the  distant  sky- 
line. There  is  something  about  our  New  England 
uplands  like  the  barren  worn-out  plains  of  Old  Cas- 
tile ;  yet  these  two  might  have  stood  for  a  youth  and 
future  that  one  cannot  hope  from  Spain. 

They  came  out  from  the  table-land  down  into  a 
combe  that  had  been  worn  for  itself  by  a  little  stream 
now  dry  ;  as  they  ambled  down  the  winding  grass- 
grown  way,  the  trees  began  again  about  them,  oak 
and  pines,  then  firs  ;  a  house  or  two  was  passed,  and 
then  a  little  school-house,  the  houses  boarded  up,  and 
the  school-house  closed.  They  came  down  upon  the 
turnpike,  which  had  come  by  the  longer  way,  around 
the  hills  ;  here  was  a  bit  of  a  village,  a  blacksmith's 
house,  a  country  store  and  an  old  hotel.  The  weath- 
er-worn wood  of  these  seemed  older  than  any  thatched 
and  plastered  cottage  in  old  England. 

Grade's  pensioners  lived  in  a  little  house  close  by, 


46  First  Harvests. 

the  blacksmith's  wife  and  her  six  children ;  she  had 
some  medicine  for  them,  and  Arthur  a  few  newspa- 
pers. While  Gracie  went  to  see  them,  Arthur  led  the 
horses  to  the  inn ;  there  was  a  swinging  sign  of  George 
Washington  over  the  door,  which  the  pride  of  each 
successive  owner  had  kept  well  varnished  ever  since 
the  memorable  night  when  he  had  stopped  there, — 
though  nothing  else  about  the  place  was  in  repair. 
No  one  came  to  the  door  as  Arthur  walked  up,  and 
he  tied  his  horses  to  a  well-nibbled  rail,  and  went  in. 
There  was  a  long  bare  entry  leading  from  the  front 
door,  with  a  row  of  doors  ;  each  with  a  tin  sign  above 
it,  "  office,"  "  dining-room,"  "  ball-room  "  (now  half 
obliterated),  and  "bar."  Arthur  opened  the  last  one, 
and  went  in. 

There  was  a  high  black  stove  with  a  hard-coal  fire, 
in  the  centre  of  the  room  ;  around  it  on  the  floor  a 
square  wooden  tray,  rilled  with  sand.  The  walls  were 
covered  with  gay  posters,  a  cattle  show,  an  advertise- 
ment of  melodeons,  of  a  horse  stolen,  of  an  auction 
sale  of  a  farm,  farming  utensils,  a  horse  and  cow,  many 
sleighs  and  wagons  and  some  household  furniture. 
An  old  man  sat  in  one  corner,  in  carpet  slippers,  with 
a  newspaper,  and  a  look  upon  him  as  if  he  had  not 
been  out-doors  that  day. 

"  Well,  Lem  ?  "  said  Arthur,  "  business  quiet,  eh  ?  " 
"  There  ain't  much  business,  Mr.  Holyoke,"  said 
the  hotel-keeper,  without  changing  his  position, 
"  'xcept  what's  in  here."  And  he  pointed  to  the  bar, 
and  the  pitcher  of  water,  and  the  row  of  tumblers 
behind  it. 


Of  Grade  Holyoke  and  of  Her  Heart.     47 

"  I  want  you  to  give  my  horses  a  feed,"  said  Arthur, 
"  we  came  over  from  Great  Barrington." 

"  Came  over  from  Barrington,  did  ye  ?  "  said  he. 
"  And  what's  the  news  in  town  ? "  And  without 
waiting  for  an  answer,  the  old  man  rose  and  hobbled 
to  the  side  door.  "  Mike  !  "  he  cried,  "  Mike  !  "  There 
was  no  answer.  "  I  guess  the  feller  must  ha'  gone  to 
Lee,"  he  added,  grumbling.  "  There's  a  cattle  show 
there,  to-day." 

"  Let  me  go,"  said  Arthur  ;  "  I'll  look  after  them." 

"  You'll  find  the  feed  in  the  bin,"  said  the  inn- 
keeper, relapsing  into  his  stuffed  chair,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  And  what's  the  news  from  your  son,  Mr.  Hitch- 
cock ?  "  said  Arthur,  when  he  came  back. 

"  Lem's  still  out  in  loway,"  said  Mr.  Hitchcock. 
"  There  ain't  much  call  for  a  young  feller  of  sperit  to 
be  loafin'  around  here.  I  brought  him  up  for  the  bus- 
iness ;  but  I  guess  the  old  place'll  have  to  keep  itself 
after  I  am  gone." 

"  Still  at  your  old  books,  Mr.  Hitchcock,  I  see," 
said  Arthur,  taking  up  a  well-worn  copy  of  Tom 
Paine.  "  Why,  I  didn't  know  you  read  French  ! " 
And  Arthur  turned  over  with  interest  the  leaves  of  a 
book  the  other  had  just  laid  down  ;  it  was  a  volume 
of  Voltaire. 

"  I  1'arned  it  when  I  was  a  b'y  in  college.  Perhaps 
ye  didn't  know  as  I  was  a  college-bred  man  ?  " 

"  I  might  have  known  it,"  said  Arthur.  "  But  you 
didn't  send  Lem  there  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  shortly.     And  then,  with  a 


48  First  Harvests. 

chuckle,  "  They've  pretty  much  all  come  to  my  way 
of  thinking,  now.  D'ye  notice  the  old  meetin'-house 
as  ye  came  along  ?  They've  had  to  shut  it  up,  ye 
know.  Have  a  cigar  ?  "  And  Mr.  Hitchcock  brought 
two  suspicious  looking  weeds  out  of  a  gayly  pictured 
box,  and  extended  one  to  Arthur.  The  latter  took 
one,  knowing  the  old  man  would  be  mortally  offended 
if  this  rite  of  hospitality  were  passed  by. 

"  Whose  house  was  that  I  saw  boarded  up  ?  "  said 
Arthur,  for  the  sake  of  something  to  say. 

"  What !  "  said  the  old  man,  "  ain't  ye  heard  ? 
That's  Uncle  Sam  Wolcott's.  The  old  man  was  livin' 
there  with  his  daughter  and  her  little  b'y."  And 
Hitchcock  took  a  comfortable  pull  at  his  cigar. 

"  Yes,"  said  Arthur,  "  I  remember  now." 

"  The  child's  dead,"  said  he. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Arthur.     «  Dead  ?  " 

Hitchcock  nodded  assent.     "  Killed  him,  ye  know." 

"  Killed  him  ?  who—" 

"  The  grandfather — Samuel  Wolcott.  Killed  him 
with  an  axe,  Sunday  week.  Them  air  gospel  folks 
got  him  crazy." 

The  old  man  spoke  with  a  sort  of  grim  satisfaction, 
and  Arthur  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  "  Great 
heavens  !  you  don't  mean  to  say  he  murdered  him  ? 
Where's  the  mother  ?  " 

"  Lucky  for  her  she  warn't  there  at  the  time,  I  guess. 
Fust  time  I  ever  knew  o'  church  doing  a  critter  any 
good." 

"  But  where  is  she  now  ?  " 

Hitchcock  waved  his  hand  in  the  direction  of  the 


Of  Grade  Holyoke  and  of  Her  Heart.     49 

biggest  poster,  "  Farm  for  Sale"  "  Gone  back  to  her 
husband's  folks,  I  guess.  And  when  she  come  back, 
she  found  old  Wolcott  a-hangin'  to  a  rafter  in  his 
barn." 

"But  what  possible  motive — "began  Arthur  aghast. 
'•'  Had  he  no  other  family  ? '' 

"  He  had  a  sister — I  never  heard  what  became  o' 
her.  She  married  a  feller  by  the  name  of  Starbuck, 
from  New  London  way,  an'  I  mistrust  he  turned  out 
bad.  I  guess  the  old  man  got  kinder  disperited.  An' 
then  the  gospel  folks — But  he  was  the  last  of  the  old 
Wolcott  family,  an'  they  was  gret  folks  in  their  day. 
So  they  put  him  an'  the  infant  in  the  family  tomb, 
and  sealed  it  up." 

Arthur  looked  at  the  old  hotel-keeper,  and  then  out 
at  the  empty  street.  Gracie  was  coming  along  under 
the  elm-trees,  the  yellow  leaves  falling  about  her  in 
the  autumn  wind.  "  I  must  be  going,"  said  he. 

"  Have  a  little  something  hot,  before  ye  go  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Arthur,  "  thanks,  I  guess  not."  And  he 
made  haste  to  get  away,  feeling  the  spirit  of  the  place 
come  over  him  like  a  pall. 

"  Well,  good-bye  ?  "  said  the  other.  "Always  glad 
to  see  ye.  But  we've  all  got  to  come  to  it.  Some 
day,  ye'll  find  me  hanging  to  the  beam  up  there,  I  ex- 
pect." Heedless  of  which  gloomy  prognostication, 
Arthur  made  haste  to  get  to  the  stable  and  brought 
out  the  horses.  They  mounted,  and  rode  some  time 
in  silence. 

"  Did  Mr.  Hitchcock  tell  you  ? ''  said  Gracie  with  a 
shudder. 

4 


50  First  Harvests. 

Arthur  nodded.  Something  in  the  terror  of  the 
place  brought  out  his  love  the  stronger,  as  he  looked 
at  her,  the  tears  in  her  deep  gray  eyes.  "  I  wonder 
that  we  had  not  heard  of  it,"  said  he ;  "  but  these 
places  are  so  out  of  the  world." 

"  Poor  man,  I  have  so  often  wondered  if  we  could 
do  nothing  for  him,"  said  she.  "  I  went  there  once ; 
but  he  almost  ordered  me  out  of  the  house." 

"  Hitchcock  says  it  was  some  religious  mania,"  said 
Arthur. 

"  He  never  went  to  church  when  I  knew  him,"  said 
Gracie.  "  He  cared  most  for  his  sister ;  and  I  think 
her  husband  turned  out  ill.  Poor  people,  does  it  not 
seem  cruel  they  cannot  be  taught  to  live  ?  They 
could  be  so  happy  here,  in  this  lovely  country,  if  they 
only  knew." 

"  We  are  happy,  are  we  not,  dear  ?  "  said  Arthur. 

"Yes,  Arthur.  It  almost  seems  wrong — ''  and 
Gracie  looked  out  over  the  hills  ahead  of  them,  where 
the  sun  was  already  low  in  the  sky. 

"  Are  we  going  home,  now  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  stop  a  moment  at  the  Kellys — that  Irish 
family,  you  know." 

Instinctively,  they  had  taken  another  road  back, 
leaving  the  old  meeting-house  and  the  now  ended 
homestead  on  the  right ;  and  as  they  came  up  on  the 
brow  of  the  first  hill,  they  passed  a  large  wooden  cross, 
painted  freshly,  with  a  gilt  circle  and  the  mystic 
letters  I.  N.  R.  I.  in  the  centre.  A  short  distance 
beyond  this  was  a  square  old-fashioned  farmhouse, 
with  a  fine  old  doorway,  needing  paint  like  all  the 


Of  Grade  Holyoke  and  of  Her  Heart.     51 

other  houses.  But  the  yard  was  full  of  pigs  and  hens 
and  chickens ;  and  about  the  door  a  half-score  tow- 
headed  children  were  playing.  These  ran  up  to  Grade 
as  they  rode  up.  "  Mother's  in  the  kitchen,"  said  the 
biggest  of  the  girls,  putting  a  finger  in  her  mouth. 
The  boys  stood  still,  and  stared  at  them,  abashed. 

Grade  went  in;  and  Arthur  stood  and  looked  about 
him.  The  fields  were  already  stubble ;  but  lit  up 
with  yellow  piles  of  squashes;  a  noise  of  cattle  came 
from  the  rambling  old  stable ;  and  behind  the  house 
was  a  low  peat-meadow,  fresh-ditched  and  being 
drained.  The  healthy  Irish  stock  had  grown  luxuri- 
antly, where  the  older  line  was  dying  out.  Gracie 
came  out,  smiling.  "  She  is  a  nice  old  body,  Mrs. 
Kelly,"  said  she.  "  And  now,  for  home  !  "  and  they 
put  their  horses  at  the  gallop,  and  were  soon  up  on 
the  bare  downs  again.  And  Arthur,  like  a  man,  be- 
gan to  plead  his  suit  once  more. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  JUDGE  SUMS  UP  HIS  CASE. 

JUDGE  HOLYOKE  sat  in  his  library,  try- 
ing to  reconcile  good  law  with  good  con- 
science by  distinguishing  the  present  case, 
in  which  the  plaintiff  was  clearly  in  the 
right,  from  a  former  one  in  which  he  had  been  as 
clearly  in  the  wrong.  The  opinion  was  a  hard  one  ; 
and  the  Judge  had  got  no  farther  than  the  summing 
up,  when  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  The  Judge 
always  wrote  his  opinions  with  ease  and  clearness  when 
law  and  right  coincided ;  but  when  they  did  not,  he 
would  lie  awake  of  nights  to  produce  an  opinion  which 
would  remain  a  marvel  of  learning  and  obscurity.  His 
high  brow  wrinkled  a  little  when  he  heard  the  knock 
at  the  door;  he  hated  to  be  disturbed  while  in  the 
agonies  of  judicial  creation  ;  and  as  Arthur  came  ten- 
tatively in,  he  looked  at  him  sternly,  as  upon  a  coun- 
sel who  ventured  upon  an  unexpected  motion,  with  a 
curtly  short-cutting  well? 

(He  has  come  for  a  larger  allowance,  thought  the 
Judge ;  he  knows  that  he  is  of  full  age,  and  wants  his 
full  income.) 

(How  shall  I  ask  him  for  hrs  daughter,  thought 
Arthur.  Well — at  all  events,  he  must  know  that  she 
is  mine.) 


The  Judge  Sums  Up  His  Case.        53 

Arthur  sat  down,  still  hesitating.  The  Judge  waited 
impatiently,  though  he  thought  he  knew  what  was 
in  his  mind ;  for  it  was  part  of  his  legal  training 
never  to  give  his  own  ideas  until  he  had  fully  ex- 
tracted those  of  the  other  side.  Thus,  mutual  mis- 
understanding like  that  of  a  scene  in  a  comedy  was 
averted ;  for  when  Arthur  did  begin,  it  was  to  the 
point. 

"  Uncle  John,"  said  he,  "  I  am  engaged  to  Grade." 

Uncle  John  was  in  fact  more  staggered  than  if  he 
had  moved  him  for  a  non-suit ;  but  his  judicial  calm 
was  as  unruffled  as  if  it  were  but  a  similiter  in  plead- 
ing. "  And  is  Gracie  engaged  to  you  ?  "  he  answered, 
illogically,  but  to  the  point,  in  his  turn.  And  Ar- 
thur's hesitation  in  replying  gave  him  time  to  hastily 
adapt  himself  to  the  issue  and  make  up  his  judicial 
mind  ;  which  was,  as  usual,  that  the  court  would  re- 
serve its  decision.  Arthur,  however,  hesitated  but 
for  a  moment ;  and  then  with  a  faint  blush  mantling 
his  ingenuous  face,  "  I  think,  sir,  she  might  be,  if  you 
would  consent." 

"  But,  dear  me,"  said  the  Judge,  "  I  don't  consent  ! 
Don't  understand  me  for  one  moment  as  consenting  ! 
Where's  Gracie  ?  Did  you  tell  her  of  this — of  this 
surprising  motion  of  yours  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Arthur,  "  I  thought— that " 

"  That  you  wanted  an  ex  parte  hearing  ?  Now  I 
can't  pronounce  a  decision,  sir,  in  the  absence  of  the 
parties ;  and  Gracie  has  not  made  her  appearance  in 
this  suit  as  yet !  " 

"  I'll  go  get  her,"  said  Arthur,  promptly. 


54  First  Harvests. 

"  No,  sir,  you'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  the 
Judge,  appalled  at  this  evidence  of  collusion  between 
the  parties.  "  You'll  go  away  from  here  for  some 
years  before  you  get  her ;  and  then " 

"  And  then  ?  "  said  Arthur,  eagerly. 

The  Judge  looked  at  him  curiously  over  his  round 
spectacles.  "  What  do  you  propose  to  live  upon  ?  " 

"  I  am  coming  to  that,"  said  Arthur.  "  I  have  fif- 
teen hundred  a  year " 

"  Two  thousand,"  said  the  Judge,  absently. 

"  Two  thousand  ?  "  said  Arthur,  "  I  did  not  think 
it  was  so  much."  And  he  began  rapidly  to  calculate 
how  much  farther  the  extra  five  hundred  would  carry 
them. 

"Well,"  said  the  Judge,  "you  don't  propose  to 
marry  my  daughter  and  live  in  Boston  on  two  thou- 
sand a  year,  do  you  ?  "  But,  secretly,  it  seemed  to 
him  the  proper  thing  to  do. 

"No,  sir,"  said  Arthur;  ("Oh,"  interpolated  the 
Judge,  rather  disappointed.)  "  I — I  have  decided  to 
go  to  New  York  and  enter  a  banking-house.  And,  in 
that,  sir,  I  want  to  ask  your  help — and  your  advice." 

The  Judge  was  silent  a  minute.  "  In  order  that 
you  may  use  the  one  and  decline  the  other,  I  suppose, 
with  thanks.  Well ; — and  granting  this  point  (for  the 
sake  of  argument) — What  next  ?  " 

"  Then,"  said  Arthur,  "  I  shall  try  to  make  some 
money ;  and  then,  if  I  succeed — will  you  give  your 
consent  to  our  engagem — to  our  marriage  ?  " 

"  Dear,  dear,"  thought  the  Judge,  "how  persistent 
he  is  !  I  haven't  given  my  consent  to  your  engage- 


The  Judge  Sums  Up  His  Case.        55 

ment  as  yet,"  he  answered.  "  Why  do  you  wish  to  go 
to  New  York  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  Arthur,  taken  by  surprise. 
"At  least,  it  is  a  larger  field — one  may  get  on  in  the 
world  more  rapidly — and  I  thought,  with  my  engi- 
neering training,  as  agent  of  a  banking  house  I  should 
be  sooner  able  to  support  a  wife." 

"  Do  you  think  Gracie  would  be  happier  there  than 
in  Boston  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — we  had  not  got  to  that  yet,  sir," 
said  Arthur,  cleverly  enough.  True,  they  had  not ; 
and  the  Judge  smiled  a  little. 

"  I  mean,  in  case  we  should  consider  this  most  pre- 
posterous scheme  ?  "  he  added.  "  Do  you  mean  to  be 
a  banker  all  your  life  ?  "  he  asked,  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  no,  sir — at  least,  that  is — I  should  like " 

"  Suppose  I  should  ask  you  to  take  some  practical 
position  on  a  railroad  in  the  far  West  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  should  rather  be  in  New  York,  sir. — 
But,  of  course,  I  should  want  to  follow  your  advice." 

"  Would  you  give  up  the  New  York  plan  entirely, 
if  I  asked  you  to  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Arthur.     "  If  you  gave  me  Gracie." 

The  Judge  paused.  Arthur  sat,  twirling  his  light 
straw  hat  in  his  hand,  but  looking  earnestly  at  his 
uncle.  "  Shall  I  send  her  here  to  you,  sir  ?"  he  said, 
finally,  finding  the  suspense  intolerable. 

The  Judge  looked  at  him  gravely,  over  his  specta- 
cles. 

"  On  the  whole,  I  think  New  York  will  be  the  best 
place  for  you.  I  will  write  to  Mrs.  Livingstone  about 


56  First  Harvests. 

it  to-night.  But  not  a  word  of  this  to  Grade,  mind. 
And  now,  good-night." 

Arthur  got  up  ;  but  he  hesitated  nervously  at  the 
door,  before  turning  the  handle. 

"  And  suppose — suppose  she  asks  me,  sir  ?  " 

"  You  will  tell  her  I  unqualifiedly  disapprove  of  the 
whole  project,"  thundered  the  Judge  in  his  most  court- 
like  manner ;  and  Arthur  must  fain  go  content  with 
that  answer.  But  he  met  Gracie  in  the  parlor,  and 
told  her  that  her  father  would  not  give  his  consent  as 
yet ;  but  that  he  had  written  to  New  York,  and  would 
find  him,  Arthur,  a  place  in  some  banking-house. 

And  so,  these  two  went  on  to  talk  of  more  impor- 
tant matters ;  or  rather,  Arthur  did ;  as,  how  long  he 
had  loved  her,  and  how  much,  and  how  he  had  come 
to  speak  upon  just  that  day ;  until  Gracie,  hearing 
nothing  from  her  father,  feared  that  he  might  be  ill  or 
worried,  and  gave  Arthur  his  dismissal,  and  with  more 
formality  than  usual.  A  certain  constraint  was  be- 
tween these  two  now,  most  new  and  delightful,  to 
Arthur,  at  least ;  but  quite  different  from  the  old  cou- 
sinly ease. 

Meantime,  the  Judge  had  dropped  his  papers  from 
him  and  set  to  considering  this  last  case,  that  was  so 
much  nearer  home.  He  had  no  objections — of  course, 
he  had  no  serious  objection  to  his  daughter's  marry- 
ing Arthur — if  Arthur  was  good  enough  for  her  ;  for 
cousinship  is  but  a  slight  objection  in  New  England. 
The  Judge  had  always  looked  up  to  his  elder  brother, 
the  clergyman,  as  being  far  his  own  superior;  but 
somehow,  with  his  son  and  his  own  daughter,  it  seemed 


The  Judge  Sums   Up  His   Case.        57 

otherwise.  The  Judge  strenuously  kept  out  of  his 
mind  any  consideration  of  Gracie's  leaving  him,  lest 
it  should  bias  his  decision  ;  he  felt  an  odd  desire  to 
submit  the  case  to  some  one  else,  as  one  in  which  he 
was  too  much  interested  to  sit. 

Perhaps  in  every  middle-aged  or  elderly  mind,  there 
is  a  slight  impatience  with  the  matrimonial  doings  of 
the  younger,  as  being  always  somewhat  premature 
and  ill-considered.  When  one's  own  life  is  neatly 
rounded  off,  when  one  has  duly  weighed  its  emptiness, 
and  properly  resigned  one's  self  to  it ;  when  that  res- 
ignation, which  once  seemed  so  unlike  content,  has 
become  a  habit ;  there  must  be  a  certain  impertinence, 
— you  being  so  ready  to  say  enfin  ! —  in  any  one's 
starting  up  and  crying  recommenqons !  Of  course, 
Judge  Holyoke  knew  that  Gracie  would  some  day 
wed — of  course,  he  wished  her  to  be  well,  z>.,  happily 
married — but  not  exactly  here — not  now — not  to  this 
one  nor  to  that  one.  Not  that  he  doubted  that  Arthur 
was  in  earnest — or  that  he  spoke  the  truth  in  saying 
Gracie  loved  him — nor  did  he  think  that  they  were 
both  too  young  to  know  their  own  minds.  It  is  the 
fashion  to  scoff  at  first  loves,  but  the  Judge  believed 
in  them  ;  whether  rightly  or  wrongly,  we  cannot  say  ; 
but  this  was  part  of  that  which  made  him  trusted, 
even  by  the  prisoner  upon  whom  he  was  passing  sen- 
tence ;  and  yet,  a  just  judge,  too. 

But  somehow,  things  had  changed  so  much  since 
the  Judge  was  young,  that  he  did  not  see  how  any 
one  could  soberly  contract  to  see  them  change  much 
further,  or  take  the  risk  of  any  new  beginning.  He 


58  First  Harvests. 

himself  had  been  a  Rousseau,  a  Robespierre,  a  Love- 
lace with  a  dash  of  folly  and  Tom  Paine,  to  the 
worthy  people  of  the  town  where  he  then  sat,  the 
people  who  were  then  sleeping  in  the  hillside  yonder  ; 
and  yet,  how  fine  a  town  these  same  good  folk  had 
made,  in  the  days  when  he  was  a  young  law-student 
under  old  Judge  Sewall !  But  in  middle  life,  the 
world  and  its  movement  had  passed  him  ;  and  now, 
the  gay  folk  and  the  band  were  almost  out  of  sight 
ahead  of  him,  and  he  behind  with  the  feeble  and  the 
stragglers,  the  old  and  the  obstructive,  and  no  longer 
any  hankering  to  be  drum-major. 

For  it  seemed  as  if  the  old  prizes  had  lost  their 
lustre ;  and  there  were  no  longer  any  public  for  a  man  ; 
an  honest  one  getting  so  little  applause,  in  this  world's 
stage,  and  the  general  taste  being  vitiated,  and  too 
coarse  to  relish  the  finer  flavors  of  the  human  soul. 
He  believed  Arthur  to  be  an  honest  man,  with  the 
education  and  breeding  of  a  gentleman  ;  more  he  did 
not  ask,  his  smartness,  or  his  faculty  for  getting  on. 
The  old  Judge  had  little  of  the  avarice  miscalled  of 
age ;  he  thought  too  little  of  the  worth  of  money  for 
one  who  grieved  so  much  that  it  alone  had  worth ; 
perhaps  Arthur,  in  his  way,  thought  as  much  of  this. 
With  Gracie  married,  he  at  least  might  well  go  off  the 
stage.  Many  creatures  live  but  to  their  time  of  re- 
production ;  this  is  all  that  nature  seems  to  care ;  and 
the  time  which  is  given  to  live  with  and  cherish  his 
children  to  nature  would  seem  but  surplusage.  He 
had  lived  and  married  ;  he  had  found  all  that  even 
his  youthful  ambitions  had  dared  to  formulate  or 


The  Judge  Sums   Up  His   Case.        59 

hope  ;  but  was  he  quite  content  ?  Somehow,  the  sky, 
so  blue  in  the  morning,  had  grown  troubled  and  over- 
cast toward  the  twilight.  There  was  no  one  thing  he 
could  say  was  wanting;  he  had  done  what  he  had 
sought  to  do  ;  he  had  been  honored  more  than  he  had 
hoped;  he  would  leave — what?  A  few  well-wrought 
opinions,  valuable  until  the  next  statute;  a  reputa- 
tion as  a  nice  old-fogy ;  a  few  poor  dollars,  some  books, 
and — 

The  door  opened  softly,  but  the  Judge  did  not  hear 
it ;  and  his  daughter  entered  and  placed  her  soft  hand 
on  his.  He  started,  as  if  he  had  been  dreaming. 
Gracie  was  troubled  by  his  absence  of  mind,  and  feared 
she  might  be  the  cause  ;  she  looked  at  him,  not  tim- 
idly, nor  inquiringly,  and  yet  so  that  the  old  man's 
eyes  grew  softer  as  he  looked  at  hers.  "No,  dear, 
you  did  not  disturb  me, — neither  you  nor  Arthur,"  he 
added,  at  her  half-spoken  word.  "  Tell  me,  do  you 
care  for  him  very  much  ?  " 

"  No  more  than  I  do  for  you,  dear,"  said  the  girl ; 
but  in  her  manner  the  Judge  could  read  her  silent 
strength  of  love.  And  more  was  said  between  them  ; 
but  come,  we  are  not  fit  for  such  scenes,  you  and  I ; 
let  us  go  out  gently  and  leave  these  two  alone. 

Meantime,  Arthur,  the  cause  of  all  this,  was  sleep- 
ing quietly,  with  the  sleep  of  a  hunter  of  any  man- 
ner of  wild-fowl,  and  the  dreamlessness  of  insouciant 
youth.  For  Gracie  loved  him — that  was  clear,  both 
to  happy  Arthur  and  the  wakeful  Judge. 

There  is  a  curious  timeliness  in  our  modern  ail- 


60  First-  Harvests. 

ments ;  a  timeliness  which  would  be  still  more  strik- 
ing if  we  could  know  the  elements  of  each  man's  life. 
In  older  times,  men  wore  out  slowly,  by  labor  or  by 
rust ;  they  set  about  dying  deliberately,  as  they 
worked  their  land  or  managed  their  daily  concern- 
ments. But  in  these  days  of  steam  and  dynamite, 
our  mode  of  death  is  sudden,  quick  and  certain,  like 
an  explosion  or  a  railway  catastrophe ;  less  like  the 
processes  of  nature  than  those  of  man.  Paralysis, 
like  nihilism,  has  developed  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, and  chooses,  as  if  by  some  secret  intelligence,  its 
moment  with  a  terrible  skill. 

So,  one  such  night  as  this,  and  not  long  after — of 
the  exact  date  I  am  not  sure — death  came  upon  the 
Judge,  as  he  was  sitting  with  his  papers,  working 
late  at  night  and  lonely,  striving  to  fashion  human 
statutes  to  fit  diviner  laws,  that  justice  might  be  seen 
of  men. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ARTHUR  SEES  THE  WORLD. 

iT  was  near  the  end  of  the  first  hour  in  the 
New  York  Stock  Exchange.  The  floor 
was  crowded.  A  few  of  the  young  brok- 
ers, who  had  less  business  and  more  time, 
having  executed  their  orders,  were  now  ready  for  sky- 
larking and  horse-play.  But  it  had  been  a  great 
"  bull "  morning,  and  the  greater  number,  many  of 
whom  were  older  brokers,  and  had  only  been  attract- 
ed personally  to  the  scene  as  the  news  of  the  great 
battle  spread  abroad  about  the  Street,  were  still 
madly  pressing  around  the  painted  signs  which  were 
set,  like  standards,  to  mark  the  stations  of  the  stocks. 
The  high  roof  of  the  hall  seemed  too  close  to  make 
the  noise  endurable ;  the  air  itself  seemed  torn  and 
tired  with  the  cries  of  the  combatants.  The  rays  of 
light  which  came  down  from  the  high  windows  were 
full  of  shreds  and  the  dust  of  battle ;  the  worn  floor 
was  littered  with  bits  of  paper,  telegrams  and  orders, 
the  exploded  cartridges  of  that  paper  warfare.  To 
the  contemplative  stranger  in  the  gallery — if  any  con- 
templating stranger  there  had  presence  of  mind  and 
spirit  calm  enough  to  remain  so — it  seemed  as  if  the 
actors  in  the  scene,  rushing  madly  from  one  skirmish 


62  First  Harvests. 

to  another,  crying  their  orders,  now  unheeded,  now  to 
a  crazy  crowd,  were  the  orators  or  leaders  of  a  vast 
mob,  trying  each  to  work  his  will  upon  the  multi- 
tude. Or  he  may  have  thought  it  a  parliament,  a 
congress  that  had  overleapt  all  rules  of  decorum, 
where  each  member  forgot  all  save  the  open  rush  for 
private  gain.  But  one  who  understood  might  still 
have  seen  the  battle  wax  and  wane ;  might  have  seen 
here  the  attack  and  there  the  repulse,  here  the  con- 
centration of  forces  and  the  charge,  there  the  support 
brought  up  to  the  post  that  showed  signs  of  wavering. 
And  it  was  a  battle,  of  a  sort  more  common  now 
than  that  of  arms;  and  who  shall  say,  less  real  than 
it  ?  Surely,  they  were  righting  for  their  hearths  and 
for  their  altars  ;  such  altars  and  such  firesides  as  they 
had.  And  many  a  city  palace,  and  many  a  country 
cottage,  were  hanging  with  their  owners  on  the  out- 
come of  the  day.  Each  magnate  of  the  market,  each 
leader  in  the  fray,  stood  surrounded  by  his  staff  and 
subaltern  officers  ;  while  the  telegraph  boys  and  camp- 
followers  rushed  hither  and  thither,  and  nimble  clerks 
hastened  from  the  room  with  messages  and  returned 
with  new  supplies. 

Near  the  end  of  the  great  arena  where  the  chief 
point  of  onslaught  seemed  to  be,  stood  the  standard 
of  the  Allegheny  Central — Allegheny  Central,  the 
great  railroad  that  made  their  houses  and  their  yachts 
and  carriages  for  hundreds  of  the  rich,  and  to  which 
some  ten  thousand  of  the  poor  looked  for  their  daily 
bread.  No  great  corporation  had  a  better  name  than 
this:  none  was  surer,  none  more  favored  by  widows 


Arthur  Sees  the    World.  63 

with  their  mites,  by  shrewd  lawyers,  by  banks,  and  by 
trustees.  A  greater  power,  almost,  than  the  people, 
in  the  States  through  which  it  ran,  it  was  well  and 
honestly  managed,  and  little  in  favor  with  specula- 
tors and  those  who  like  best  of  all  to  win  by  other  peo- 
ple's losses ;  perhaps  the  easiest  way.  This  stock  had 
therefore  been  chosen  by  the  flower  of  the  "bull" 
army,  and  was  the  very  wedge  of  their  attack.  A 
great  crop  had  been  sown  upon  its  line  that  year ; 
and  about  the  sign  of  Allegheny  the  maddest  fight  of 
all  was  fought.  A  dense  crowd  encircled  it,  a  small 
sea  of  high  hats — some  already  crushed  in  the  con- 
flict— and  a  babel  of  hoarse  voices ;  and  even  on  its 
outskirts  were  others  madly  pushing,  pressing  to  get 
in.  The  figures  cried  went  up  by  leaps  at  a  time — 
Ninety!  Ninety-one!  a  half!  three-quarters!  Ninety- 
two  for  any  part  of  ten  thousand  !  And  the  smaller 
men,  who  had  no  thought  of  purchase  at  such  a  time, 
were  drawn  in  as  by  a  whirlpool,  such  was  the  excite- 
ment of  seeing  others  get  what  all  were  there  to 
make,  such  was  the  resistless  attraction  of  success. 

Among  the  men  who  took  no  part,  but  stood  curi- 
ously, on  the  outskirts  of  the  fight,  were  two  whose 
faces  and  figures  would  attract  you  even  in  that  crowd. 
They  were  apparently  friends;  at  least,  they  had 
come  in  together.  The  older  was  a  young  man  of 
twenfy-four  or  five,  very  handsome  in  his  way ;  that 
is,  he  was  lithe,  graceful,  tall,  with  dark  hair  neatly 
cut,  a  small  black  moustache,  shaped  like  a  gentle- 
man's— it  was  not  the  moustache  of  a  gambler,  nor 
yet  of  an  elegant  of  the  dry-goods  counter — and, 


64  First  Harvests. 

above  all,  with  an  indescribable  air  of  high  finish  and 
high  living.  His  clothes  were  beautifully  cut  ;  his 
hands  white,  his  cheeks  red,  his  nervous  system  evi- 
dently in  perfect  order,  and  his  digestion  unimpaired. 
He  came  in  sauntering,  carelessly  pointing  out  the 
people  of  interest  to  his  friend  ;  his  manner  was  per- 
fectly indifferent,  as  he  drifted  from  one  sign-post  to 
another,  chewing  between  his  lips  the  green  stem  of 
some  flower, — as  a  countryman  puts  a  straw  in  his 
mouth  when  making  a  horse-trade.  He  passed  by 
the  Allegheny  Central  and  stopped  in  front  of  the 
Louisville  and  Nashville  sign  ;  and  no  one  suspected 
that  he,  Charlie  Townley,  of  Townley  &  Tamms,  had 
just  sent  brokers  into  the  heat  of  the  fight,  by  order 
of  headquarters,  to  sell  twenty  thousand  shares  of  the 
Allegheny  Central  itself.  He  cast  no  glance  behind 
him,  but  was  engaged  in  pointing  out  to  his  friend 
three  well-known  brokers — one  famed  for  his  wit,  the 
other  for  his  wife,  and  the  third,  to  continue  the  allit- 
eration, for  his  wiles.  The  companion  was  of  differ- 
ent build  ;  but  we  need  not  describe  him.  Arthur 
Holyoke  had  arrived  in  New  York  the  very  night  be- 
fore. He  had  come  on  from  the  country  with  his 
cousin  and  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Livingstone,  with  whom  in 
future  Gracie  was  to  live.  He  had  been  with  Gracie 
all  those  weeks  since  her  father's  death  ;  but  his  quick 
perception  had  prevented  him  from  speaking  to  her 
again  of  their  engagement.  Gracie  was  a  girl  whose 
standard  of  conduct  was  placed  above  the  plain  and 
obvious  right ;  who  would  go  out  of  her  way  to  seek 
duties  that  were  almost  romantic,  justice  more  than 


Arthur  Sees  the   World.  65 

poetical,  motives  ethereal,  and  benefits  to  others  that 
their  better  angels  might  have  overlooked.  And  Ar- 
thur was  enough  of  a  poet  himself  to  feel  that  he 
would  not  wisely  mention  love  to  her  for  many 
months  at  least ;  not  because  her  father  had  not  ap- 
proved it,  but  because  he  was  no  longer  there  to  ap- 
prove. 

When  Judge  Holyoke  had  written  to  his  sister-in- 
law  about  Arthur,  Mrs.  Livingstone  had  spoken  at 
once  to  Mr.  Tovvnley,  who  was  an  old  friend  of  hers ; 
and  he  had  promptly  offered  to  let  Arthur  serve  an 
apprenticeship  in  his  own  business.  Mr.  Townley, 
the  old  gentleman,  that  is ;  for  Charlie,  despite  all 
his  finish  and  importance,  was  but  a  line-officer,  rep- 
resenting them  actively  in  the  field.  He  was  only  a 
far-off  orphan  cousin  of  Mr.  Townley's,  and  a  clerk  in 
the  firm  of  Tovvnley  &  Tamms,  on  a  salary  of  $2500 
a  year.  But  his  alertness  and  his  wide  awake  air 
had  gained  for  him  the  pleasanter  duty  of  represent- 
ing the  firm  in  its  seat  in  the  Stock  Exchange ;  said 
seat  being,  as  we  have  seen,  a  privilege  to  get  stand- 
ing-room therein  if  possible. 

No  one  knew  all  this  of  Townley.  Most  of  his 
merely  society  acquaintances  supposed  him  to  be  the 
senior  partner's  son ;  even  his  intimate  friends  thought 
of  him  as  the  probable  heir,  in  a  fair  way  to  be  a  part- 
ner, an  impression  which  Charlie  artfully  heightened 
by  his  extravagant  mode  of  life  when  away  from  his 
boarding-place,  his  late  hours,  and  his  general  inatten- 
tion to  all  but  the  showy  work  of  the  firm.  It  was 
evident  that  he  took  far  more  interest  in  keeping  his 
5 


66  First  Harvests. 

dress  correct  than  in  the  books  of  the  firm  ;  and,  the 
Stock  Exchange  once  closed,  no  young  man  of  fashion 
could  be  more  safely  relied  upon  for  an  afternoon  of 
sport,  or  a  ride  and  dinner  at  the  Hill-and-Dale  Club. 

But  all  this  Arthur  had  yet  to  learn ;  for  the  pres- 
ent, he  was  interested  in  the  battle  around  him,  the 
conflict  of  the  two  spirits,  hope  and  despair,  affirma- 
tion and  negation,  enterprise  and  nihilism,  in  this 
safety-valve  of  traffic,  where  alone  the  two  forces  meet 
directly,  each  at  touch  and  test  with  the  other.  For 
the  Stock  Exchange  is  a  kind  of  gauge,  testing  the 
force  of  the  national  store  and  the  national  need  of 
money ;  and  the  bears,  too,  have  their  healthy  func- 
tion, keeping  down  the  fever  in  the  body  politic. 

In  the  shriek  and  roar  of  all  the  crowd  about  them, 
the  young  men  could  hardly  converse  intelligibly; 
but  that  might  come  after ;  meantime,  Arthur  was 
fully  employed  in  seeing.  Few  of  the  men  showed 
evidence  of  much  mental  anxiety  ;  opposite  them,  to 
be  sure,  a  pale-faced  little  Jew  stood  in  a  corner,  ner- 
vously biting  his  lips ;  but  most  of  the  crowd  were 
red-faced,  and  panting  with  the  physical  excitement 
alone,  as  if  it  were  a  foot-ball  match.  As  they  looked 
on,  a  fat,  good-natured-looking  broker  with  an  impu- 
dent face  and  a  white  hat  cocked  on  one  side  of  his 
head,  came  out  of  the  Lake  Shore  crowd,  and  with 
the  slightest  perceptible  wink  to  Townley  as  he 
passed,  joined  the  madder  fight  about  Allegheny 
Central. 

"  Ninety-one,"  said  he,  "  a  thousand  ! " 

"  Come  out  of  the  floor,"  said  Townley  to  Arthur  ; 


Artlntr  Sees  the   World.  67 

"come  up-stairs  ;  there's  going  to  be  some  fun."  At 
first,  no  one  paid  any  attention  to  the  new-comer ; 
and  when  our  friends  got  to  the  gallery,  the  fat  broker 
was  still  offering  his  stock  at  ninety-one  to  an  un- 
heeding world,  and  the  state  of  affairs  was  much  the 
same  as  before.  Only,  that  at  this  distance  the  noise 
had  something  in  it  less  human  ;  it  was  inarticulate, 
monstrous,  and  the  sight  of  half  a  thousand  men, 
struggling,  every  eye  fixed  on  his  neighbor's,  made  a 
something  awful  in  the  experience,  as  if  they  two 
on-lookers  were  unseen  Valkyrs,  looking  down  upon 
some  battle  of  the  Huns. 

"  Ninety-one,"  they  heard  the  newcomer  say  again ; 
and  this  time  he  was  answered ;  for  there  was  a  howl 
of  derision,  and  then  a  sudden  sway  in  the  crowd, 
and  a  rush  to  where  he  stood.  "  Ninety  and  three 
quarters,"  said  he;  "a  half,"  and  there  was  another 
howl ;  but  by  this  time  the  leaders  of  the  inner  de- 
fence had  heard  of  this  flank  movement,  and  their 
tactics  changed.  "  Ninety  !  "  "  Nine  and  a  half !  " 
"  Eighty-nine !  "  "  Eight  and  three  quarters  !  "  "A 
half ! " 

"  Seven,  for  ten  thousand,"  said  the  solitary  broker, 
coolly;  and  the  roar  doubled  in  volume,  if  such  a 
thing  were  possible;  and  the  rush  to  sell  began,  at 
rapidly  dropping  figures.  The  fat,  good-natured 
broker  turned  away,  and  started  to  go,  having  sold 
the  stock  down  five  points  in  hardly  fifty  seconds ; 
when  crash  !  a  small  soft  orange  went  through  the 
centre  of  the  impudent  white  hat.  With  a  yell  of 
derision,  the  crowd*  turned  their  fury  upon  this; 


68  First  Harvests. 

whack  !  crack  !  flew  the  unlucky  hat,  from  one  fist  to 
another,  amid  the  cheers  of  the  multitude,  until  a 
well-directed  kick  landed  it  beside  Arthur  in  the  gal- 
lery. This  gave  a  new  object  to  their  humor ;  and 
with  one  accord  the  assemblage  began  singing  in 
regular  well-tempered  cadence,  evidently  referring  to 
Arthur : 

*  Lambs  !     Lambs  ! 
One  shorn  lamb  !  " 

Arthur,  blushing,  hurried  from  the  gallery ;  and 
Charlie  Townley  followed  him,  laughing  inordinately. 

"  They'll  get  used  to  you  in  a  day  or  two,  my  dear 
fellow,"  said  he.  "They  wouldn't  have  done  it  if 
they  hadn't  seen  you  with  me." 

When  they  got  into  the  corridor  below,  they  met 
the  broker  of  the  ravaged  hat.  He  had  got  another 
by  this  time,  and  winked,  this  time  with  a  broad 
smile,  at  Townley  as  they  came  out.  "  I  did  that 
pretty  well,  I  think  ?  "  said  he. 

"  First-rate,"  said  Townley.  "  How  much  did  it 
cost?" 

"  Not  over  twenty  thousand  shares,  I  guess,  and 
twelve  at  least  went  to  your  friends.  The  boys  didn't 
like  it,  though,  did  they  ?  "  And  the  man's  mouth 
grinned  wider,  as  he  thought  of  the  scene  we  have 
described. 

"  Charge  the  hat  to  the  pool,"  laughed  Townley. 
"  Who's  selling,— not  the  Old  Man  ?" 

"  Tammy,  I  guess,"  said  the  other.  "  Doubt  if  the 
Old  Man  even  knows  it." 


Arthur  Sees  the    World.  69 

"  Ta-ta,"  said  Townley  ;  and  they  sallied  forth,  Ar- 
thur much  wondering  at  these  metropolitan  methods 
of  doing  business  ;  and  Townley  completed  his  duties 
as  host  and  cicerone  by  giving  him  a  very  elaborate 
lunch  at  a  down-town  club  and  putting  his  name 
down  among  the  candidates  for  membership.  "  You 
needn't  feed  here  unless  you  like,"  said  he ;  "  but  it's 
so  convenient  to  bring  a  fellow  to."  Indeed,  Townley 
had  been  very  friendly  to  the  young  countryman  ;  and 
this  was  no  less  than  the  third  club  at  which  he  had 
"  put  him  up  "  that  day.  "  You  can  try  'em  all,  and 
then  make  up  your  mind  which  ones  you'd  like  to 
join,"  said  he.  At  a  word  of  remonstrance  from  Ar- 
thur, he  had  glibly  anticipated  all  objection.  "  Now 
don't  talk  about  extravagance,"  said  he ;  "I  tell  you, 
no  fellow  ever  made  money  in  New  York  who  didn't 
spend  it  first."  And  Arthur  had  been  silenced  by 
this  paradoxical  philosophy. 

Townley's  friendship  had  even  extended  to  provid- 
ing him  with  a  boarding-place,  a  room  in  the  house 
where  he  himself  lodged  ;  and  toward  this  the  young 
fellows  took  their  way,  early  in  the  afternoon.  Ar- 
thur was  already  tired,  with  his  short  and  idle  day  ; 
he  was  overcome  by  the  rush  and  the  whirl  and  the 
magnitude  of  things.  He  had  heard  talked  of,  had 
handled,  had  seen  the  management  of,  huge  sums  of 
money ;  he  had  seen  millions  in  the  process  of  their 
making ;  but  how  to  divert  a  rivulet  of  the  Pactolean 
stream  to  himself  seemed  a  greater  mystery  than  ever. 
It  took  so  much  to  make  so  little!  Such  huge  heaps 
of  bullion  had  to  be  sweated  to  yield  to  the  manipu- 


70  First  Harvests. 

lator  the  clippings  of  one  gold  dollar !  Truly,  on  the 
other  hand,  Townley  talked  to  him  of  millions  made 
and  lost  as  if  they  had  been  blackberries.  It  was, 
"  There's  old  Prime — he  made  a  million  in  that  Pan- 
handle deal,"  or  "  There  goes  poor  old  Howard — the 
shorts  in  Erie  used  him  up,"  until  Arthur  saw  that  he 
was  seeing  here  a  most  instructive  process  :  nothing 
less  than  the  creation  and  founding  of  American  fami- 
lies. Here  were  the  people,  the  progenitors  of  future 
castes ;  the  sources  of  inherited  estate,  of  culture,  of 
consideration  ;  this  old  man  with  the  battered  hat, 
that  sharp-faced  young  Israelite,  were  the  ancestors, 
the  probable  fathers  and  grandfathers  of  the  men  and 
maidens  who  were  to  be  "  society  "  in  the  future  Re- 
public ;  the  first  acquirers  of — not  the  broad  acres,  but 
the  city  lots — the  rich  houses,  the  stocks  and  bonds, 
the  whole  equipment  of  life,  that  was  (if  our  laws  are 
maintained)  to  make  sleek  thejeunesse  dor^e  of  the 
twentieth  century.  A  million  !  It  is  not  much,  in 
many  ways,  in  most  ways  that  we  read  about  in  books 
and  bibles ;  it  is  not  a  factor  of  the  Crusades,  nor  of 
the  War  of  the  Roses,  nor  yet  (as  we  are  informed)  of 
the  kingdom  of  heaven.  But  most  things  that  Town- 
ley  saw  were  multiples  of  it ;  and  now  Townley 
carefully  avoided  reading  books;  for  even  General 
Gordon,  you  remember,  writing  from  Khartoum  to 
posterity,  records  the  reflection  that  mankind  and  his 
works  are  governed  by  his  ventral  tube.  Now  of 
ventral  tubes,  a  million  is  the  deity;  books  should, 
as  they  used  to,  speak  to  souls.  And  Arthur,  think- 
ing of  all  this,  who  had  marvelled  first  at  all  their 


Arthur  Sees  the    World.  71 

eagerness,  now  wondered  rather  at  their  carelessness  ; 
of  these  men,  taking  and  losing  such  things  so  lightly. 

Arthur  could  not  have  had  a  better  cicerone  than 
Charlie  Townley.  He  knew  his  New  York  like  the 
inside  of  his  pocket ;  its  streets,  its  ways,  its  women, 
its  wiles,  its  heroes  and  its  favorites;  its  eating 
places,  drinking  places,  breathing  places ;  its  getting 
up  and  its  lying  down.  When  they  passed  Four- 
teenth Street,  his  manner  changed  very  apparently ; 
the  aesthetic  overcame  the  practical ;  the  hard  shine 
of  millions  was  displaced  by  the  softer  radiance  of 
women's  eyes.  Many  of  these  same  eyes  were,  in 
their  turn,  riveted  by  the  display  of  women's  wares 
in  the  shop-windows  about  Union  Square,  which  gave 
Townley  the  opportunity  of  gazing  at  his  ease ;  al- 
though, it  must  be  owned,  if  any  of  these  eyes  looked 
up  and  met  his  own,  he  seemed  little  disconcerted. 

They  stopped  and  made  a  call  at  the  Columbian 
Club,  which  was  crowded  with  men,  breaking  the  long 
journey  homeward  to  their  firesides,  domestic  or  other- 
wise.  And  as,  in  some  country  hamlet  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  we  can  fancy  the  little  ale-house,  standing  on  the 
heath,  midway ;  Jock  and  Dickon  are  plodding  home 
tired  from  the  long  day's  plowing;  behind  this  one 
smoking  chimney  the  cold  November  sky  lowers 
drearily,  the  last  pale  tints  of  the  tired  day  are  fading, 
and  the  common  is  bare,  and  the  naked  moorland  left 
to  the  wolves;  and  the  two  men  stop  in  a  moment  at 
the  Cat-and-Fiddle  to  have  a  bite  and  a  sup,  a  cup 
around  the  tavern-fire,  and  a  bit  of  human  companion- 
ship, to  talk  about  the  price  of  corn,  and  of  Hodge 


72  First  Harvests. 

the  tinker's  son  and  Joan  his  sweetheart,  and  the  do- 
ings of  the  new  squire,  whose  round  brown  towers 
peep  from  the  coppice  of  the  distant  park — so,  too, 
here  in  our  New  York,  the  jaded  men  drop  in,  and 
chat  about  the  price  of  stocks,  their  neighbor's  horses 
and  his  wife,  and  have  a  glass  of  bitters  round  the  fire. 
Townley  took  vermouth,  lamenting  bitterly  that  his 
health  permitted  nothing  stronger ;  but  other  paler 
men  than  he  administered  brandy-cocktails  unto 
themselves,  or  pick-me-ups  of  gin.  Here  Charlie 
brushed  himself,  and  took  his  silver-headed  cane;  and 
again  the  pair  sallied  forth  upon  their  journey,  cross- 
ing Madison  Square  and  striking  up  the  Avenue. 
Many  damsels,  richly  robed,  now  lit  up  the  long  way  ; 
there  is  usually  a  received  type  at  any  period  for  the 
outdoor  gorgeousness  of  womankind,  and  this  year  it 
was  blue — a  walking-suit  of  blue,  from  neck  to  heel, 
close-fitting,  and  all  of  velvet.  Dozens  and  scores  of 
velvet  gowns  they  passed,  and  Arthur  noticed  that  his 
guide,  philosopher,  and  friend  looked  at  many  of  them 
as  if  they  were  familiar  sights,  but  bowed  to  few. 
Now  there  had  been  many,  in  Union  Square,  to  whom 
he  had  nodded,  at  the  least.  He  seemed  to  read  Ar- 
thur's thoughts,  for  he  said  : 

"  These  are  all  off-side  girls.  You  don't  see  the 
others  out  at  this  time." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Arthur. 

"  Why,  they're  not  in  society,  you  know."  And  he 
lifted  his  hat  to  one  of  them,  who  had  given  him  a 
most  empress^  bow,  including  in  it  Arthur.  "  There's 
one  of  the  prettiest  girls  in  town,"  said  he,  meditative- 


Arthur  Sees  the    World.  73 

ly ;  "  Kitty  Farnum.  They're  awfully  rich,  too  ;  old 
Farnum's  got  no  end  of  money."  This  thought  seem- 
ed to  depress  Charlie  for  a  minute,  and  they  walked 
on  in  silence.  Now  Arthur  had  met  Miss  Farnum  at 
a  New  Haven  ball,  where  she  had  been  a  very  proud 
belle  indeed. 

"  There,"  said  Townley,  at  last,  as  they  crossed  a 
side-street,  "  is  Mrs.  Levison  Gower's."  There  was  a 
certain  reverence  in  his  tone,  as  he  said  this,  that  his 
voice  had  not  yet  shown  in  all  that  day,  and  Arthur 
looked  with  a  proper  admiration,  though  not  clearly 
understanding  why,  at  the  house  we  have  already  de- 
scribed. 

Their  lodgings  were  near  by  (so  Townley  always 
spoke  of  the  boarding-house  where  he  lived),  and  the 
young  men  separated  to  dress  for  dinner.  Arthur  had 
been  rather  surprised  that  so  elegant  a  person  lived  in 
a  boarding-house  at  all ;  but  the  fact  was,  Townley 
preferred  to  use  his  money  elsewhere  than  at  home. 
But  he  never  dined  with  the  other  inhabitants ;  in 
fact,  his  acquaintance  with  them  was  extremely  slight, 
as  he  always  breakfasted  in  his  room  ;  and  to-night  he 
put  a  finishing  touch  upon  his  hospitality  by  inviting 
Arthur  to  a  very  pretty  little  dinner  at  the  Piccadilly 
Club.  But  after  this,  Townley  had  an  engagement, 
and  Arthur  was  left  to  his  own  devices.  He  smoked 
his  cigar  and  read  the  evening  paper ;  then  he  began 
an  article  in  the  Edinburgh  Review,  took  up  the  Spec- 
tator, and  ended  with  Punch  ;  after  which  he  became 
unoccupied,  and  his  spirits  dropped  visibly. 

By  this  time  several  men  had  strolled  in ;  there  was 


74  First  Harvests. 

much  laughing  and  gay  spirits ;  around  him  were  all 
the  luxuries  of  mind  and  body  that  the  inventive 
bachelor  mind  has  yet  devised  for  the  comfort  of 
either  such  part  of  himself.  But  as  Arthur  leaned 
back  in  the  deep,  throne-like  leather  chair  and  sipped 
(if  one  may  so  say)  his  reina  victoria,  his  conscious- 
ness went  back  to  a  certain  sunny  hillside,  with  the 
light  of  the  rich  autumn  morning,  and  the  joyous  beat 
of  the  hoofs  upon  the  dewy  grass. 

He  had  been  to  see  Gracie  only  the  day  before ; 
but  he  drew  on  his  overcoat  and  walked  around  to 
the  Livingstones.  A  light  was  in  the  second-story 
window  of  the  high  house  ;  and  he  rang  the  bell  hope- 
fully. 

"  Mrs.  Livingstone  ?  " 

"  Not  at  home,"  said  the  man,  gravely. 

"  Is — is  Miss  Holyoke  in  ?" 

"  The  ladies  are  out,  sir,"  said  the  man,  decidedly. 

"  I  will  not  leave  a  card,"  said  Arthur,  answering 
the  man's  gesture ;  and  he  walked  sadly  back  to  the 
club-house. 

Surely,  Arthur  felt,  the  forms  of  life  and  the  tram- 
mels of  the  great  city  were  coming  home  to  him. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ARTHUR  SEES  MORE  OF  THE  WORLD. 


HE  firm  of  Townley  &  Tamms  were  of  the 
oldest  and  best-known  bankers  and  brok- 
ers in  the  Street.  Mr.  Townley  had  been 
known  in  New  York  over  fifty  years ;  he 
had  a  taste  for  art,  and  was  a  director  in  the  Allegheny 
Central  Railroad.  Tamms  was  a  newer  man ;  a 
younger  man  with  a  square  head,  stiff  red  beard, 
broad  stubby  fingers,  and  great  business  ability.  Ar- 
thur was  expected  to'be  there  a  little  after  nine  in  the 
morning,  which  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  break- 
fast at  the  boarding-house  on  Fifth  Avenue  at  sharp 
eight.  Most  of  the  other  men  did  the  same,  except 
Townley,  who  had  his  coffee  in  his  room. 

These  men  were  not  interesting ;  in  fact,  they 
seemed  to  Arthur  singularly  unattractive.  Their 
faces  were  all  chopped  or  rough-hewn  into  one  pre- 
vailing expression,  as  rows  of  trees  by  the  sea-shore 
are  bent  the  same  way  by  the  wind.  It  would  be  best 
described  as  a  look  of  eagerness ;  their  eyes  were 
sharp  and  piercing,  and  they  even  ate  their  breakfast 
eagerly.  They  all  seemed  common  to  Arthur ;  and 
he  one  of  them,  reduced  to  his  lowest  terms  of  ex- 
pression, a  unit  of  population,  nothing  more.  They 


76  First  Harvests. 

were  all  hurrying  through  breakfast,  folding  their  nap- 
kins, putting  on  their  great-coats,  and  going  down 
town  for  money,  and  for  nothing  else ;  so  was  he. 
To  be  sure,  he  had  a  woman  he  loved  at  the  end  of 
it ;  but  so,  perhaps,  had  they. 

Arthur  rose  impatiently,  leaving  his  second  egg,  and 
passed  out,  receiving  a  clipped  or  half-audible  "  good- 
morning  "  from  most  of  his  fellow-boarders ;  the  sort 
of  salutation  that  hurried  men  may  give  who  must 
still  dimly  remember  or  recognize,  while  they  may 
regret,  the  necessity  for  small  social  courtesies.  He 
put  on  his  overcoat,  and  started  walking  down  the 
Avenue. 

There  was  no  reasoning  himself  out  of  it,  his  spir- 
its drooped  ;  not  with  the  sentimental  and  romantic 
melancholy  of  a  young  man  (which  is  a  sort  of  pleas- 
ant sadness,  and  results  in  nothing  worse  than  pessi- 
mistic poems,  nocturnal  rambles,  and  a  slightly  in- 
creased consumption  of  narcotics  and  stimulants),  but 
with  that  more  practical,  less  tolerable,  discontent 
which  the  grown  man  has  in  moments  when  the  con- 
viction is  irresistibly  borne  in  upon  him  that  his  posi- 
tion in  the  world  is  not  a  brilliant  one,  and  his  worth, 
to  make  the  best  of  it,  is  unappreciated.  For  those 
who  choose  to  be  sad  over  these  things  there  is  no 
remedy.  And  in  New  York,  he  felt  himself — number 
one  million  three  hundred  and  fifty-six  thousand  two 
hundred  and  two. 

Arthur  had,  too,  a  strong  desire  to  go  and  see 
Gracie,  much  as  a  child  wants  to  go  to  its  mother's 
lap  and  cry.  But  how  much  farther  off  she  seemed 


Arthur  Sees  More  of  the    World.       77 

than  if  they  had  stayed  at  Great  Barrington  !  It  was 
impossible,  of  course,  for  him  to  see  her ;  she  had  in- 
sisted that  there  should  be  no  announced  engagement 
between  them.  He  doubted  even  if  Mrs.  Living- 
stone knew  of  it.  But  how  long  it  would  be  before 
they  could  be  married,  before  they  could  live  in  a 
house — in  a  house  like  that  one  there,  for  instance ! 
And  Arthur  waved  his  cane  unconsciously  at  a  house 
on  the  corner  of  Thirty-second  Street,  in  which, 
though  ugly  enough  outside,  it  seemed  to  him  it 
might  be  reasonably  possible  for  him  to  maintain  his 
own  identity  and  their  dignity  of  life.  Then  he  re- 
membered that  Townley  had  pointed  it  out  to  him 
the  day  before  as  Mrs.  Levison  Gower's  house,  and 
that  he  had  been  introduced  to  her  at  Lenox.  Prob- 
ably she  would  not  remember  him  now. 

Going  to  the  office,  he  sought  that  corner  of  a  desk 
which  was  in  the  future  to  be  his  station  in  the  world. 
Townley  arrived  late,  and  gave  him  a  hasty  nod  ;  it 
was  a  busy  day,  and  he  had  been  up  late  in  the  night 
at  the  first  ball  of  the  season.  Arthur's  work  that 
day  consisted  in  writing  letters  for  the  firm,  following 
Mr.  Tamms's  hastily  pencilled  instructions  ;  but  the 
first  letter  he  wrote  of  all  was  not  signed  by  the  firm 
signature,  and  it  bore  the  address  "  Miss  Holyoke, 

care  of  Mrs.  Richard  Livingstone,  6  W. th  Street, 

City."  Such  letters  as  these  it  is  that  make  the 
world  go  on  ;  and  truly  they  are  more  important  than 
even  the  foreign  mail  of  Messrs.  Townley  &  Tamms. 
This  relieved  his  mind,  and  the  daily  labor  for  his 
daily  bread  coming  happily  in  to  sweeten  his  medita- 


78  First  Harvests. 

tions,  he  got  fairly  through  to  four  o'clock,  when 
Townley  proposed  that  they  should  go  to  drive. 

Arthur  protested  his  duty  to  his  employers. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Charlie ;  "  the  governor  knows 
you've  got  to  get  into  harness  by  degrees.  Besides, 
he  doesn't  pay  you  anything  for  your  services — and 
they  arn't  worth  anything,  yet,"  he  added.  The  last 
argument  was  unanswerable. 

Charlie's  cart  (it  is  quite  impossible  for  us,  who 
have  known  him  nearly  two  days,  to  call  him  To\vn- 
ley  any  more)  was  very  high,  very  thick,  and  very 
heavy,  and  was  purchased  in  Long  Acre ;  the  horses, 
which  answered  the  same  description,  were  also  im- 
ported ;  and  the  harness,  which  corresponded  to  the 
cart  in  thickness  and  heaviness,  came  from  Cheapside. 
Townley's  coat,  clothes,  top-hat,  whip,  and  gloves 
were  all  native  of  Bond  Street  or  Piccadilly ;  and  in 
fact,  the  only  thing  about  him  which  was  produced 
fairly  beyond  the  London  bills  of  mortality  was  the 
very  undoubted  case  of  green  Havana  cigars  that  he 
offered  to  Arthur  the  moment  they  had  left  the  Park. 
They  drove  up  Fifth  Avenue,  past  the  same  proces- 
sion of  pedestrians  they  had  seen  the  day  before,  and 
Arthur  could  not  but  note  how  much  more  interest- 
ing they  seemed  to  their  fellow-creatures  from  the 
summit  of  their  dog-cart,  and  how  the  interest  had 
become  mutual  as  they  entered  the  Park  and  joined 
the  procession  of  T-carts,  phaetons,  and  victorias. 
He  admired  the  dexterity  with  which  Charlie  kept 
the  tandem-reins  and  the  whip  properly  assorted 
in  his  left  hand,  while  the  right  was  continually  oc- 


Arthur  Sees  More  of  the    World.       79 

cupied  in  raising  his  hat  to  pretty  women  who  had 
bowed. 

The  Hill-and-Dale  Club,  the  newly  established 
country  institution,  a  sort  of  shrine  or  sacred  grove 
whither  city  folk  betook  themselves  to  commune  with 
nature,  was  in  Westchester  County,  not  far  from  the 
historic  banks  of  the  Bronx.  An  old  country  man- 
sion, former  quarters  of  Continental  generals,  rendez- 
vous of  Skinners  ancl  Cowboys,  had  been  bought, 
adorned,  developed,  provided  with  numerous  easy 
chairs  and  sporting  prints;  and  lo  !  it  was  a  club. 
The  wide  lawn  in  front  was  turned  into  a  half-mile 
track  for  running  races ;  a  shooting  range  and  tennis- 
grounds  were  made  behind  ;  and  you  had  a  small  Ar- 
cadia for  mundane  pleasures.  Here  could  tired  mor- 
tals loaf,  chat,  eat,  drink,  smoke,  bet,  gamble,  race, 
take  exercise,  and  see  their  fellow-creatures  and  their 
wives  and  cattle.  Expatriated  Britons  found  here  a 
blessed  spot  of  rest,  a  simulacrum  of  home,  where 
trotting  races  were  tabooed,  where  you  were  waited 
on  by  stunted  grooms,  and  could  ride  after  your 
hounds,  and  always  turned  to  the  left  in  passing. 
Before  this  Elysium  did  Charlie  pull  up,  and  throw- 
ing the  reins  to  a  stable-boy,  led  Arthur  to  the  inner 
Penetralia.  After  inscribing  his  name  in  the  club- 
book  (making  the  fourth,  thought  Arthur)  they  went 
to  the  smoke-room,  where  they  met  a  dozen  of  the 
fellows  (some  of  whose  faces  seemed  already  familiar 
to  him)  and  executed  the  customary  libation.  Here 
Charlie  stood  boldly  up  to  a  composite  ambrosia  of 
which  the  base  was  brandy,  saying  that  he  thought  a 


8o  First  Harvests. 

fellow  deserved  it  after  that  drive.  Some  conversa- 
tion followed ;  but  I  sadly  fear  'twould  not  be  worth 
the  trouble  of  reporting  in  cold  print.  Then  Charlie 
proposed  they  should  go  look  at  the  stables ;  and 
they  did. 

"  That  is  the  beast  for  you,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a 
gaunt,  fiery-eyed  creature  with  a  close-cropped  tail. 
"Vincent  Duval  is  going  abroad,  and  you  can  have 
him  for  four  hundred." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,  I  can't " 

"Nonsense,  Holy,"  said  Charlie  familiarly  falling 
into  the  nickname  that  then  and  there  sprang  full- 
grown  like  Minerva  from  his  inventive  brain.  "  Look 
here,  young  fellow,  I  want  to  give  you  some  advice. 
Let's  go  in  and  smoke  on  the  piazza."  They  found 
easy  seats  above  the  broad  green  lawn,  half  across 
which  reached  already  the  shadows  of  a  belt  of  huge 
bare  forest  trees  that  rimmed  in  the  western  end ; 
and  there,  inspired  by  tobacco  and  the  beauty  of 
the  scene,  did  Charles  Townley  deliver  himself  as 
follows : 

"  My  dear  boy,  we  live  in  a  great  country ;  and  in 
a  free  country  a  man  can  make  himself  just  what  he 
likes.  You  can  pick  out  just  the  class  in  life  that 
suits  you  best.  This  is  the  critical  moment ;  and 
you  must  decide  whether  to  be  a  two-thousand-dollar 
clerk  all  your  life,  a  ten-thousand  bachelor,  or  a  mill- 
ionaire. If  you  rate  yourself  at  the  two-thousand 
gauge,  the  world  will  treat  you  accordingly ;  if  you 
spend  twenty  thousand,  the  world,  sooner  or  later, 
will  give  it  to  you.  There's  Jimmy  De  Witt,  for  in- 


Arthur  Sees  More  of  the    World.       81 

stance  ;  after  the  old  man  busted,  he  hadn't  a  sous 
markee — what  was  the  result  ?  He  had  an  excellent 
taste  in  cigars  and  wine,  knew  everybody,  told  a  good 
story — you  know  what  a  handsome  fellow  he  is  ? — 
no  end  of  style,  and  the  best  judge  of  a  canvas-back 
duck  I  ever  saw.  Everybody  said  such  a  fellow 
couldn't  be  left  to  starve.  So  old  Duval  found  him 
a  place  as  treasurer  of  one  of  his  leased  railroads  down 
in  Pennsylvania,  where  all  he  has  to  do  is  to  sign 
the  lessee's  accounts  ;  he  did  this  submissively,  and  it 
gave  him  ten  thousand  a  year.  Then  we  made  him 
manager  of  the  Manhattan  Jockey  Club — that  gave 
him  six  thousand  more ;  then  he  makes  a  little  at 
whist,  and  never  pays  his  bills,  and  somehow  or  other 
manages  to  make  both  ends  meet.  And  now  they 
say  he's  going  to  marry  Pussie  Duval.  Do  you  sup- 
pose he'd  ever  have  'been  more  than  a  poor  devil  of  a 
clerk,  like  me,  if  he'd  tried  economy  ?  "  And  Charlie 
leaned  back  and  puffed  his  cigar  triumphantly. 

"  But  I  mean  to  pay  my  bills,"  said  Arthur. 

"  Well,  he  will,  too,  in  time,"  said  Charlie. 

Arthur  smiled  to  himself,  and  reflected  that  the 
corruptions  of  New  York  were  rather  clumsy,  after 
all,  and  its  snares  and  temptations  a  trifle  worn-out 
and  crude;  but  he  said  nothing,  and  by  this  time 
their  tandem  was  brought  around  and  they  whirled 
off  to  the  city.  When  they  got  home,  he  found  a 
note : 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  H.   Farnum  request  the 
pleasure — Mr.    Holyoke's   company — small   party, 
Thursday  the  twenty-eighth,"  etc.,  etc. 
6 


82  First  Harvests. 

He  tossed  it  over  to  Charlie.  "  Since  you're  such 
a  social  mentor,  what  must  I  do  to  that  ? "  said 
he. 

"  Decline  it,  of  course,"  said  the  other ;  "  I've  got 
one  myself;  you  see  they  saw  us  together.  You 
mustn't  show  up,  the  first  time,  at  the  Farnums." 

Arthur  was  nettled.  "  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the 
kind,"  said  he.  "  I  shall  accept  it." 

"As  you  like,"  laughed  the  other,  good-naturedly. 
"  I  shall  accept,  too,  as  far  as  that  goes  ;  but  you 
needn't  go.  They  can  put  it  in  the  newspaper  that 
I  was  there,  if  they  like."  Arthur  opened  his  eyes  ; 
what  sort  of  young  nobleman,  then,  was  his  friend, 
disguised  as  a  clerk  upon  a  salary  ? 

"  Perhaps  you  object  to  my  calling  on  the  Living- 
stones ?  "  said  he,  with  biting  sarcasm. 

"  Not  at  all — the  Livingstones  are  all  right,"  said 
unconscious  Charlie.  "  But  don't  go  to-night ;  come 
to  the  opera  with  me.  In  fact,  you  can't  make  calls 
in  the  evening  any  more,  you  know." 

"  What  opera  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Charlie,  serenely.  "  What 
does  it  matter  ?  " 

Arthur  had  nothing  to  reply  to  this  ;  and  the  opera 
turned  out  to  be  "  Linda."  But  Charlie  was  right ; 
the  audience  proved  more  interesting.  Here  was  a 
dress  parade  of  all  that  was  most  fashionable  in  New 
York  ;  for  it  was  a  great  night,  the  first  of  the  season, 
and  every  one  was  anxious  to  put  herself  en  Evidence. 
Townlcy  was  out  of  his  seat  three  quarters  of  the 
time ;  and  Arthur  paid  little  attention  to  what  was 


Arthur  Sees  More  of  the    World.       83 

going  on  on  the  stage.  The  wicked  marquis  came, 
saw,  and  sought  to  conquer ;  the  sentimental  young 
heroine  sighed  and  suffered,  repelled  both  the  marquis 
and  his  diamonds,  and  fled  from  the  wilds  of  Cha- 
mounix  to  the  seclusion  and  safety  of  Paris;  and  the 
jewelled  ladies  in  the  boxes  (familiar  with  this  tale) 
gave  it  now  and  then  their  perfunctory  attention, 
recognizing  that  all  this  drama  was  being  well  and 
properly  done,  the  correct  thing,  according  to  the 
conventions  of  the  stage.  Directly  opposite  him,  in 
one  of  the  grand-tier  boxes,  were  three  women  who 
attracted  his  eyes  unwittingly.  Two  of  them  were 
young,  and  both  were  beautiful ;  one,  with  heavy 
black  hair  and  fair  young  shoulders  sitting  quietly ; 
the  other  not  quite  so  pretty,  but  with  an  inde- 
scribable air  of  complete  fashion,  a  blonde  with  the 
bust  of  a  Hebe,  talking  with  animation  to  quite  a 
little  group  of  male  figures,  dimly  visible  in  the  back 
of  the  box  ;  and  the  third  a  woman  of  almost  middle 
age,  with  the  figure"  of  a  Titian  Venus  and  hair  of  an 
indescribable  ashen  yellow.  Surely  he  knew  that 
face? 

"  Who  is  that  in  the  box  opposite — the  middle  one, 
I  mean,  with  the  two  beauties?" 

Charlie  lifted  his  opera  glass,  and  then  as  quickly 
dropped  it.  "  She  would  thank  you,"  he  said,  "  for 
your  two  beauties.  She  is  the  only  married  woman 
of  her  set  who  isn't  afraid  to  have  pretty  young  girls 
about  her.  That's  Mrs.  Gower,  and  she's  looking  at 
you,  too." 

Arthur  looked  up  and  met  her  eye;  she  made  a 


84  First  Harvests. 

very  slight  but  unmistakable  inclination  of  her  head, 
and  Arthur  bowed. 

"  You're  in  luck,  young  'un,"  said  Townley.  "  Now 
you've  got  to  go  and  speak  to  her." 

"  Have  I  ?  "  said  Arthur.  "  I  know  her  very 
slightly." 

"  She  doesn't  seem  to  think  so,  and  you  needn't 
remind  her  of  it,"  said  Charlie,  the  worldling;  and 
Arthur,  having  noted  the  number  of  the  box  from  the 
end  of  the  row,  started  on  his  quest.  He  came  to  the 
door  that  seemed  to  be  the  seventh  in  number  from 
the  stage,  and  paused  a  minute  with  his  hand  upon 
the  knob.  What  young  man's  heart,  however  much 
its  pulsations  may  be  dedicated  to  another,  does  not 
beat  awkwardly  when  he  is  on  the  point  of  address- 
ing three  lovely  women,  two  of  them  quite  unknown, 
the  other  nearly  so  ?  Then  again,  suppose  he  had 
counted  wrong,  and  not  got  into  the  right  box  ? 

His  hesitation  was  cut  short  by  the  sudden  open- 
ing of  the  door  and  the  exit  of  a  gentleman  from 
within.  Before  it  closed,  Arthur  had  plunged  boldly 
into  the  dark  anteroom,  and  was  blinking  earnestly 
out  from  it,  somewhat  dazzled  by  the  blaze  of  light 
and  the  gleam  of  the  three  pairs  of  white  shoulders  in 
front. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Holyoke,  I  hoped  you  would  come — Mr. 
Wemyss,  Mr.  Holyoke — Miss  Duval,  Mrs.  Malgam, 
Mr.  Holyoke,  of " 

"  Of  New  York,  I  believe,"  said  Arthur,  bowing, 
and  accepting  the  chair  which  the  gentleman  ad- 
dressed as  Wemyss  had  given  up,  at  a  look  from  Mrs. 


Arthur  Sees  More  of  the    World.       85 

Gower.  Certainly,  Mrs.  Gower  had  charming  man- 
ners, he  thought ;  and  it  was  very  pleasant  of  her  to 
be  pleasant  to  him. 

"  Of  New  York  ?  I  am  so  glad — I  knew  that 
Great  Barrington  was  only  your  summer  home,  but  I 
had  feared  that  you  were  wedded  to  Boston.  Where 
is  Miss  Holyoke  ?  "  Mrs.  Gower  added,  without  ap- 
parent malice;  and  Arthur  cursed  himself  inwardly 
as  he  felt  that  he  was  blushing. 

"  She  is  living  with  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Livingstone," 
said  he.  And  then,  with  a  wild  attempt  at  changing 
the  subject,  "  Do  you  like  '  Linda,'  Miss  Duval  ?  " 

(Crash  !  went  the  big  drums ;  whizz,  whizz,  in  ca- 
dence came  the  fiddles.  The  wicked  marquis,  who 
had  also  turned  up  in  Paris,  was  at  his  old  tricks 
again.) 

"  I  think  it  is  perfectly  sweet,"  said  Miss  Duval. 
"  Patti  does  it  so  well ! " 

"  It  must  be  very  pleasant  for  her  to  have  you 
here,"  said  Mrs.  Gower,  innocently.  "  I  was  so  sorry 
to  hear  of  poor  Judge  Holyoke's  death.  And  so  you 
have  come  to  settle  in  New  York  ?  How  delightful  ! 
Let  me  see — I  have  not  seen  you  since  last  summer, 
at  Lenox,  have  I  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  remember  me,"  said  Ar- 
thur. 

"  Or  was  it  Lenox  ?  "  Mrs.  Gower  went  on.  "  I  re- 
member seeing  Miss  Holyoke  one  day  as  I  drove  by, 
in  Great  Barrington,"  she  added  naively. 

Arthur  felt  that  she  was  watching  him,  and  was 
seeking  for  a  reply,  when  fortunately  Linda  came  for- 


86  First  Harvests. 

ward,  almost  under  the  box,  and  told  in  a  long  aria, 
with  many  trills  and  quavers,  with  what  scorn  she  re- 
pelled the  marquis's  advances;  the  marquis,  in  the 
meantime,  waiting  discreetly  at  the  back  of  the  stage 
until  she  had  had  her  encore  and  had  flung  madly  out 
of  his  ancestral  mansion.  This  being  the  musical  mo- 
ment of  the  evening,  all  paid  rapt  attention ;  and 
when  the  last  roulade  was  over  Mrs.  Gower  rose  and 
they  all  proceeded  to  help  with  opera  cloaks  and 
shawls.  "  Mr.  Holyoke,  you  must  come  and  dine  with 
me — are  you  engaged — let  me  see — a  week  from  Fri- 
day?" 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Arthur.  "  No,  I  think 
not." 

"  Then  I  shall  expect  you — at  half-past  seven, 
mind," — and  our  hero  had  the  felicity  of  walking  with 
Mrs.  Gower  to  her  carriage,  the  others  coming  after 
them,  with  the  two  young  ladies.  The  carriage- 
door  closed  with  a  snap,  leaving  Arthur  with  Wemyss 
and  the  other  man,  whom  he  did  not  know.  Wemyss 
seemed  to  feel  that  their  acquaintance  had  come  to 
an  end ;  so  there  was  nothing  left  for  Arthur  but  to 
return  to  Charlie  Townley. 

"  What  the  deuce  is  Mrs.  Lucie  up  to  now  ? " 
thought  he,  when  Arthur  had  recounted  to  him  his 
adventures ;  but  he  said  nothing ;  and  Arthur  was 
left  for  the  last  act  to  give  his  entire  attention  to  the 
stage.  Virtue  triumphed,  and  Vice  (who,  as  repre- 
sented in  the  person  of  the  lively  marquis,  seemed  to 
be  a  pretty  good  sort  of  fellow  after  all — an  amiable 
rascal,  the  kind  of  chap  of  whom  you  would  feel  in- 


Arthur  Sees  More  of  the    World.       87 

clined  to  ask,  What  would  he  like  to  drink  ? )  was 
duly  forgiven ;  and  he  showered  his  diamonds  as 
wedding-gifts  upon  the  bride.  So  that  Linda,  thrice 
fortunate  Linda,  not  only  followed  the  paths  of  vir- 
tue, but  got  her  lover  and  the  diamonds  into  the 
bargain ;  and  with  this  moral  and  a  Welsh  rarebit 
Arthur  and  his  friend  sought  home  and  pleasant 
dreams. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ARTHUR   GETS   ON  IN   THE   WORLD. 

I  HERE  should  never  be  more  than  six  at  a 
dinner,  unless  there  are  fourteen.  You 
can  have  your  dinner  either  a  parlor  com- 
edy or  a  spectacular  play  :  but  you  must 
choose  which  you  will  have.  Mrs.  Gower  was  well 
aware  of  this ;  and  hers  consisted  of  a  leading  lady, 
a  first  young  lady,  a  soubrette,  a  virtuous  hero,  a  heavy 
villain,  and  a  lover.  With  these  ingredients,  you 
may  have  a  very  pleasant  dinner  ;  but  you  must  be  a 
sufficiently  skilful  observer  of  humanity  to  detect  the 
role.  For  people  say  that  there  are  not  such  roles  any 
more,  and  that  we  are  all  indifferent  and  good-nat- 
ured, and  none  of  us  heavy  villains. 

Arthur  was  too  inexperienced  for  this ;  for,  like 
all  young  men,  he  also  supposed  that  all  these  char- 
acters were  conventional  fictions  of  the  stage.  He 
did  not  believe  in  villains.  Perhaps  it  would  repay 
us  to  formulate  Arthur's  views,  as  those  of  a  respect- 
able young  New  Englander  of  good  education  and 
bringing-up,  with  whose  fortunes  in  life  our  book  is 
largely  concerned.  Roughly  expressed,  they  might 
be  put  in  canons,  much  as  follows  : 

I.  The  world  is  in  the  main  desirous  of  realizing 
the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number. 


Arthur  Gets   On  in  the    World.         89 

II.  Unfortunate    necessities — the  primal   curse   of 
labor,  or  what  not — occupy  the  greater  part  of  the 
time  of  the  greater  number  with  sustaining  life ;  so 
the  leisure  of  the  fortunate  few  is  doubly  pledged  to 
the  discovery  and  attainment  of  the   object  before 
mentioned. 

III.  Money  is  a  regrettable  necessity;  but  its  ac- 
quirement, even  from  the  selfish  point  of  view,  is  but 
a  means  to  an  end.     That  end,  where  personal,  is  the 
enjoyment  of  the  pleasures  of  life — i.e.,  literature,  art, 
refined  society,  travel,  and  health.     The  larger  end  is 
intelligent  charity,  or  public  work. 

IV.  Vice  exists,  like  vermin,  as  a  repulsive  vulgar- 
ity. 

V.  Crime  exists  pathologically — i.e.,  it  is  either  an 
abnormal  disease,   or  the  consequence  of  a  pitiable 
weakness. 

VI.  Honesty  is  the  first  virtue  of  the  greater  num- 
ber ;  honor,  which  is  honesty  with  a  flower  added,  is 
the  peculiar  virtue  of  a  gentleman. 

VII.  Gentlemen  are  honorable  and   brave;  ladies 
are  like  Shelley's  heroines,  or  the  ladies  in  the  Idylls 
of  the  King. 

VIII.  The  chiefest  quality   of  humanity  is  love; 
and  the  object  of  all  human  endeavor  is  to  observe 
and  avail  itself  of  the  love  of  that  being  which  is  not 
humanity. 

So  much  for  his  ethics ;  and,  as  we  have  said 
Arthur  was  a  poet,  it  may  not  come  amiss  to  add  an 
approximation  of  his  theory  of  aesthetics.  This  was, 
in  brief : 


90  First  Harvests. 

IX.  All  beauty  is  the  visible  evidence  of  the  love 
of  God  ;  nature  is  a  divine  manifestation ;  and  litera- 
ture, art,  and  music  are  the  language  in  which  human- 
ity may  reply.  Thus,  in  particular,  all  highest  poetry 
is  but  this — the  discovery  of  the  love  of  God. 

Such  were  his  tenets,  the  standard  of  Arthur's  ex- 
alted moments,  as  he  supposed  them  then  to  be  of 
others.  In  trying  to  live  by  them,  he  knew  that  he 
was  weak,  as  all  men  are.  Of  all  the  people  whom 
he  knew,  Gracie  Holyoke  alone  seemed  always  to 
observe  them. 

So  it  may  well  be  that  Arthur  did  not,  on  that 
night,  justly  estimate  the  worth  of  those  about  him. 
He  had,  simply,  a  very  enjoyable  dinner  ;  he  was  inno- 
cently pleased  with  the  glitter  of  the  glass,  the  sparkle 
of  the  diamonds,  the  richness  of  the  china,  the  beauty 
of  the  women,  the  finish  of  their  talk  ;  it  was  a  venial 
sin  for  him  to  like  the  food  and  wines, — but  there 
was  perhaps  one  other  ingredient  in  his  pleasure,  the 
subtilest  of  all,  which  escaped  him.  Leaving  this,  for 
his  account,  let  us  speak  of  the  others. 

And  here  we  may  save  space  and  the  wearied  read- 
er's attention,  for  they  had  no  ethics  and  no  aesthetics  ; 
and  their  philosophy  of  life  was  simple.  Probably 
their  sensual  sin  was  not  so  great  as  Arthur's — for 
terrapin  and  duck  were  a  weariness  to  most  of  them 
— but  in  the  summum  bonum  they  all  agreed.  To  be 
not  as  others  are,  and  have  those  others  know  it — 
such  was  their  simple  creed.  Jimmy  De  Witt  was  on 
the  whole  the  most  innocent ;  his  being  yearned  for 
horses  and  yachts,  even  if  they  were  not  all  the 


Arthur  Gets  On  in  the    World.        91 

fastest ;  and  he  was  not  a  bad  fellow,  a  great  friend  of 
Lucie  Gower  himself,  and  so  sitting  in  loco  conjugis, 
for  the  husband  of  the  hostess  was  absent.  To  him 
came  next  Mrs.  Malgam,  who  was — but  all  the  world, 
yea,  even  to  the  uttermost  bounds  thereof  where  the 
society  newspapers  do  permeate,  knows  all  about  Mrs. 
Malgam.  Upon  De  Witt's  other  side,  convenient, 
Miss  Duval — "Pussie"  Duval,  grand-daughter  of  An- 
toine  of  that  ilk  who  had  kept  the  little  barber  shop 
down  on  Chambers  Street ;  then  Arthur,  on  Mrs. 
Gower's  right ;  and  on  her  left  Caryl  Wemyss  again, 
a  modern  Boston  Faust,  son  of  the  great  poet  who 
was  afterwards  minister  to  Austria  ;  his  son,  thus  born 
to  the  purple  of  diplomacy,  had  lived  in  Paris,  Lon- 
don, and  Vienna,  executed  plays,  poems,  criticisms, 
music,  and  painting,  and,  at  thirty-five,  had  discov- 
ered the  hollowness  of  things,  having  himself  become 
perfect  in  all  of  them.  So  he  became  a  critic  of  civili- 
zation— and  this  is  how  he  was  not  as  other  men — 
for  it  was  the  era  of  the  decadence,  and  he  the  Cas- 
sandra who  foresaw  it.  Mrs.  Gower,  our  leading  lady, 
made  the  sixth. 

From  being  the  lonely  Cinderella  of  an  unexplored 
fireside,  Flossie  had  grown  to  be  one  of  the  most  famed 
and  accomplished  hostesses  in  all  New  York.  She 
had  the  tact  of  knowing  what  topics  would  touch  the 
souls  of  the  men  and  move  the  women's  hearts,  and 
of  leading  the  conversation  up  to  these  without  appar- 
ent effort  or  insolent  dictation.  She  could  make 
Strephon  talk  to  Chloe,  or  Marguerite  to  Faust,  with- 
out taking  the  awkward  pair  by  the  elbows  and  knock- 


92  First  Harvests. 

ing  their  heads  together.  And  all  this  sweetly,  sim- 
ply, while  reserving  the  preferred  role  to  herself,  as  a 
carver  justly  sets  aside  for  his  own  use  his  favorite 
bit  of  venison.  Ordinarily,  these  six  people — four  of 
them,  surely — would  have  talked  about  other  people 
and  their  possessions ;  but  Mrs.  Flossie  rightly  fancied 
that  Arthur,  knowing  little  of  the  world,  could  only 
talk  about  books,  or  at  most,  about  the  world  in  the 
abstract.  Taking  up  the  talk  where  it  was  left  at  the 
opera,  an  early  speech  from  Arthur  to  the  effect  that 
he  did  not  mean  to  go  much  into  society  gave  her 
the  necessary  opening. 

"  You  must  not  do  so,"  said  she.  "  Society  is  as 
important  to  a  young  man  as  work.  Is  it  not,.  Mr. 
Wemyss  ?  "  (One  of  the  charms  of  this  woman's  clev- 
erness was  that  indefinable  quality  of  humor  which 
consists  in  the  relish  of  incongruities ;  her  reference 
to  Wemyss  for  the  uses  of  work,  for  instance.) 

"  Society  is  sour  grapes  to  those  beyond  its  pale," 
said  Wemyss,  "but  those  who  can  value  it  press  from 
it  the  wine  of  life."  (Wemyss  gave  a  little  laugh,  to 
indicate  that  he  did  not  mean  to  be  taken  as  a  prig.) 
"  Seriously,"  he  added,  "  no  person  of  wide  intelli- 
gence can  afford  to  ignore  the  best  society  of  a  nation, 
whatever  it  be,  for  it  represents  its  essence  and  its  ten- 
dency. It  is  the  liquid  glass  of  champagne  left  in  the 
frozen  bottle,  and  has  more  flavor  than  all  the  rest, 
it  is  the  flower,  which  is  at  once  the  present's  culmi- 
nation and  the  future's  seed." 

"  Oh,  that  is  so  true  !  "  cried  Pussie  Duval.  Miss 
Duval  would  have  made  the  same  remark  had  Mr. 


Arthur  Gets  On  in  the    World.        93 

Wemyss  asserted  that  abuse  of  stimulants  was  the 
secret  of  Hegel.  The  others  stared  rather  blankly. 
Arthur  had  never  considered  it  quite  so  seriously ; 
and  to  Mrs.  Malgam  and  Jimmy  De  Witt,  interpret- 
ing it  esoterically,  society  needed  no  more  explana- 
tion than  the  Ding  an  Sich. 

"  Then  again,"  said  Wemyss,  "  did  you  ever  go  to 
a  party  of  the  people  ?  I  don't  mean  at  Washington 
— there  they  get  a  little  rubbed  off — but  at  home. 
Well,  I  went  to  one,  once — some  people  who  had  lived 
for  many  years  in  the  house  next  to  mine  on  Beacon 
Street — and  I  do  assure  you,  it  was  tristea  faire  peur ; 
they  thought  you  were  flippant  if  you  even  smiled, 
and  took  offence,  like  awkward  boys  and  girls,  at  the 
least  informality.  One  longed  for  a  Lovelace,  si  ce 
ne'tait  que  pour  les  chiffonner.  Now,  in  the  world, 
one's  manners  are  simple,  easy ;  you  have  some  lib- 
erty ;  people  don't  take  offence — il  n'y  a  jamais  de 
mat  en  bonne  compagnie.  But  the  trouble  with  soci- 
ety in  this  country  is,"  he  continued,  "that  it  has  no 
meaning.  Now  it  must  have  a  meaning  to  be  inter- 
esting; it  must  mean  either  love  or  politics.  In 
France,  if  not  in  England,  it  has  both.  But  here,  all 
the  meaning  of  it  stops  when  one  is  married." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Flossie. 

"  Madame,"  said  Wemyss,  "  you  are  one  of  the  three 
sirens,  singing  in  the  twilight  of  the  world.  But  in 
this  dark  night  about  you,  society  exists  only  to  make 
all  young  men  get  married.  In  the  old  time,  it  had 
a  more  serious  reason  for  being.  In  courts  where 
there  was  a  more  social  element  in  politics,  intrigues 


94  First  Harvests. 

were  always  quasi-political;  parties  were  made  at 
evening  parties  ;  and  ministries  were  entered  from 
boudoirs ;  you  met  the  Opposition  in  his  salon,  and 
embraced  the  minister's  principles  with — " 

"  Look  out,  Mr.  Wemyss,"  said  Mrs.  Gower,  play- 
fully. 

— "  when  you  paid  a  compliment  to  his  wife.  But 
here,  society  and  politics  are  worlds  mutually  exclu- 
sive ;  how  would  the  Governor  of  the  State  appear  at 
a  dinner-party  ?  Politically,  the  best  people  are  laid 
on  the  shelf,  like  rare  china.  Society's  only  recog- 
nized function  is  to  bring  young  people  together ; 
when  brought  together,  they  are  supposed  to  join 
hands  and  step  aside ;  it  is  a  marriage-brokerage  board, 
and  its  aim  is  merely  matrimony." 

"  What  a  social  failure  you  must  be,  Mr.  Wemyss," 
said  Flossie. 

"  In  America,"  retorted  Wemyss.  "  But  even  a 
man  who  has  not  married  has  some  social  rights.  I 
like  a  society  of  men  and  women — not  of  Jacks  and 
Gills.  But  if  I  tell  Mrs.  Grundy  her  gown  is  becom- 
ing, likely  as  not  she'll  call  for  the  police,  in  this 
country." 

"  I  think  she'll  take  a  bit  more  than  that  without 
bolting,"  laughed  Jimmy  De  Witt. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Wemyss,  who  felt  that  he  was 
becoming  epigrammatic,  "  all  worldly  pleasures,  from 
the  original  apple,  rest  on  the  taste  of  the  forbidden 
fruit.  The  joys  of  war,  the  delights  of  business,  the 
pleasures  of  gossip,  the  satisfaction  of  swearing, — 
they're  all  the  fun  of  breaking  some  commandment. 


Arthur  Gets  On  in  the   World.        95 

Voltaire  never  would  have  put  pen  to  paper  but  for 
the  first ;  the  pleasure  of  art  is  to  worship  graven  im- 
ages ;  the  spice  of  newspapers  is  the  false  witness  that 
they  bear  against  your  neighbor.  And  what  becomes 
of  fashionable  life  without  the  tenth,  or  a  faint  and 
ever-present  memory  of  the  seventh  ?  Now  all 
Americans  covet  their  neighbor's  bank-account ;  but 
they  are  far  too  practical  to  covet  their  neighbor's 
wife.  Positively,  we  are  too  virtuous  to  be  happy : 
for  this  Arcadian  state  of  things  makes  society  neces- 
sarily dull.  Like  most  of  the  devil's  institutions,  it 
requires  considerable  red  pepper." 

Arthur  stared  at  Wemyss,  much  astonished  ;  but 
all  three  ladies  seemed  to  take  it  as  very  excellent 
fooling  indeed.  Even  Jimmy  looked  as  if  he  didn't 
wholly  understand  it,  but  knew  it  must  be  very  good. 

"  But  it's  the  paradise  of  girls.  It  offers  every 
opportunity  to  ardent  youth.  It  shows  its  prizes  in 
a  glamour  of  light  and  dress-making,  just  as  a  Parisian 
shopkeeper  puts  gas-reflectors  before  his  window. 
Bright  eyes  and  white  shoulders  are  garnished  in  ex- 
traordinary silks  and  satins ;  a  blare  of  fiddles  and 
trumpets  fills  up  vacancies  in  their  intellect ;  and  thus, 
with  all  their  charms  enhanced,  they  are  dangled  be- 
fore the  masculine  eye  when  his  discernment  has  been 
previously  befuddled  with  champagne?" 

"  Positively,"  laughed  Mrs.  Gower,  "  we  must  leave 
you  to  your  cigars.  There's  no  knowing  what  you'll 
be  saying  next — and  before  an  unmarried  lady,  too. 
Pussie,  my  dear,  go  out  first,  and  deliver  Mr.  Wemyss 
from  temptation." 


96  First  Harvests. 

The  three  ladies  rose,  and  the  men  drew  back  their 
chairs. 

"  You  must  really  look  out,  Mr.  Wemyss,"  said 
Mrs.  Malgam  ;  "  in  one  of  your  lyric  moments  you'll 
forget  that  some  girl  isn't  married,  and  be  engaged  be- 
fore you  know  it." 

Wemyss  shuddered.  "  Ah,  my  dear  lady,  I  wish  I 
could  forget  that  you  were  married " 

"  Hush,  hush,"  cried  Mrs.  Gower,  rapping  Wemyss's 
knuckles  with  her  fan,  "  and  soyez  sage,  when  we  are 
gone." 

But  when  left  to  themselves,  Mr.  Wemyss  said  little 
besides  a  word  or  two  about  literature  and  art.  His 
conversation  might  have  been  a  model  to  a  governess 
fresh  from  boarding-school.  Jimmy  De  Witt  told  a 
few  stories,  and  Arthur  had  great  difficulty  in  talking 
at  all.  Mr.  Wemyss  snubbed  them  both,  as  was  his 
habit  with  intellectual  inferiors ;  and  after  a  very  short 
cigar,  they  all  repaired  to  the  drawing-room,  where 
little  happened  that  Arthur  saw;  for,  as  all  the  com- 
pany save  Mrs.  Gower  seemed  to  regard  him  as  an  in- 
terloping hobbledehoy,  to  be  tolerated  only  as  a  fan- 
tasy of  Mrs.  Gower's,  he  shortly  and  not  over-grace- 
fully  took  his  leave. 

He  walked  to  the  club,  and  smoked,  somewhat 
nettled  with  things  in  general,  and  full  of  much  de- 
sire to  punch  Mr.  Caryl  Wemyss's  elegant  head. 
Others  had  had  that  mood  before  Arthur ;  but  you 
see  our  hero  is  by  no  means  an  exceptional  personage. 
Being,  however,  the  best  we  have  got,  we  feel  bound 
to  see  him  through.  Still,  no  Loyola  would  have 


ArtJnir   Gets  On  in  the   World.        97 

chosen  that  dinner  to  be  the  time  and  place  to  reply 
to  Wemyss  with  the  propositions  we  have  stated  for 
Arthur  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter;  and  the 
young  idealist  had  wisely  held  his  peace. 


CHAPTER   X. 

IN  WHICH  ARTHUR  MEETS  A  WEARIED  SOUL. 

OW  Mrs.  Levison  Gower,  like  Napoleon 
after  Marengo  and  Austerlitz,  was  suffer- 
ing from  ennui.  This  malady  of  modern 
times  executes  its  most  dangerous  ravages, 
like  the  gout,  only  among  those  who  can  afford  it.  It 
is  a  sort  of  king's  evil,  privileged  to  the  nobility  and 
gentry  ;  and  that  Flossie  Starbuck's  healthy  constitu- 
tion ever  succumbed  to  it  is  testimony — is  it  not  ? — to 
her  extraordinary  natural  refinement :  for  born  to  it 
she  certainly  was  not.  She  was  a  woman  of  some 
five-and-thirty  summers — let  us  rather  say,  of  some 
fifteen  seasons,  as  being  both  politer  and  more  closely 
descriptive — but  with  her  thick  blonde  hair  and  her 
youthful  figure,  round  and  lithe  as  any  girl's,  she  was 
divine  still  in  a  riding-habit  or  a  ball-dress,  and  could 
face  the  daylight  of  a  north  window  without  flinching. 
But  the  fact  was,  this  Marguerite  in  appearance  had 
been  out  fifteen  seasons ;  if  not  so  erudite  as  Faust, 
she  was  even  more  blasfa  with  the  world ;  kermesses 
had  become  stupid,  interesting  young  men  with  rapi- 
ers and  mysterious  attendants  in  red  had  lost  their  in- 
terest, even  jewels  had  ceased  to  make  her  heart  beat 
as  of  yore :  Mephistopheles  alone  remained  eternal. 


Arthur  Meets  a  Wearied  Soul.         99 

All  the  joys  of  her  girl's  ambition  she  had  tasted 
to  the  full.  Every  social  eminence  that  she  had  seen, 
she  had  in  turn  attained.  Each  one  of  the  diversions 
of  a  woman  of  fashion,  she  had  pushed  to  its  ultimate 
— gayety  pure  and  simple,  haughty  and  costly  ex- 
clusiveness,  travel  and  adventure,  the  patronage  of 
literature  and  art,  even  religion  and  charity.  But 
Mrs.  Gower  had  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  take  her 
greatest  pleasure  at  the  beginning  of  her  young  life. 
Compared  with  that  triumphal  moment  when  first, 
surrounded  by  ladies  with  names  she  had  hitherto 
known  only  in  the  newspapers,  she  had  taken  her  place 
among  the  patronesses  of  the  F.  F.  V.  Ball  as  "  Mrs. 
Levison  Gower,  Jr." — what  were  all  the  second-hand 
joys  of  the  imagination,  of  looking  at  books  and  pict- 
ures, even  the  more  solid  satisfactions  of  houses,  opera- 
boxes,  horses  and  liveries,  or  of  social  power?  The 
life  of  the  world  was  Mrs.  Gower's  book ;  she  made 
her  own  drama;  any  starveling  in  a  garret  could  have 
the  other  kind.  But  that  earliest  pleasure  was  indeed 
divine.  She  had  met  the  enemy,  and  made  them 
hers.  And  how  the  dowagers  had  scowled  at  her,  at 
first !  The  haughty  Vans,  the  poor  and  lofty  matrons 
of  the  old  manorial  families  of  New  York,  exemplary, 
unapproachable,  Presbyterian.  She  had  routed  them 
with  a  flirt  of  her  fan;  she  had  dared  their  feudal 
armor  with  her  bared  fair  breast.  Their  dowdy  daugh- 
ters had  been  snuffed  out  of  fashion  like  candles  in 
electric  light  ;  a  spark  of  wit  had  made  them  laugh- 
able, a  glance  of  her  soft  eyes  had  brought  their  broth- 
ers to  her  feet.  Her  chic  had  won  the  day,  and  soon 


i  oo  First  Harvests. 

they  all  began  to  copy  her.  Her  phaeton  and  her 
ponies  replaced  the  antiquated  family  rockaways ;  her 
style  made  up  for  breeding,  and  largely  it  was  Flossie's 
work  that  money  in  New  York  became  the  all-in-all, 
and  blood  an  antiquated  prejudice  to  jest  at.  And  all 
the  Einsteins  and  the  Malgams  and  Duvals  made 
haste  to  cluster  under  Flossie's  standard,  wanting  such 
a  leader;  and  we  Americans  throw  up  our  hats  and 
cry  how  nice  and  democratic  is  the  change — do  we 
not  ?  How  proud  was  simple  Lucie  Gower  to  find 
him  husband  to  a  goddess !  How  natural  for  Caryl 
Wemyss  to  worship  her,  the  spirit  of  his  favorite  de- 
cadence ! 

But  still,  that  early  and  delightful  triumph  had 
been  the  climax  of  her  life,  as  it  now  seemed  ;  all 
other  pleasures  had  proved  silly  or  insipid.  What 
gratification  was  it  to  her  to  move  in  the  best  society  ? 
The  whole  pleasure  lay  in  getting  there.  She  cared 
nothing  for  the  best  society,  except  in  so  far  as  she 
could  humble  it,  and  make  it  hers.  Secretly,  Flossie 
found  more  sympathy  in  her  new  friends  of  the  Duval 
set  than  in  the  old-fashioned  Van  Kulls  and  Breviers 
of  her  husband's  family.  The  best  people  bored  her. 
But  the  Duvals  were  nothing  if  not  amusing,  and  had 
a  truly  French  horror  of  the  ennuyeux. 

But  she  was  a  leader  of  it;  there  was  still  some 
satisfaction  left  in  that.  Her  leadership  was  unques- 
tioned ;  through  whatever  will-of-the-wisp  of  folly  she 
chose  to  lead  the  dance,  the  many  (and  these  the  rich- 
est, newest,  and  most  prominent)  would  follow.  Mrs. 
Malgam  alone  could  for  a  moment  contest  her  promi- 


Arthur  Meets  a   Wearied  Soul.       101 

nence — "Baby"  Malgam,  whose  fashionable  inanity 
and  lazy  beauty  had  proved  almost  as  good  cards  as 
Flossie's  cleverness.  And  the  further  she  went,  the 
faster  would  her  people  follow ;  for  the  Duvals  and 
Einsteins  were  wild  to  ^eraser,  by  ostentation  of  their 
wealth,  all  those  whose  position  rested  on  the  slight- 
est shadow  of  superiority  that  money  could  not  buy. 
All  these  people,  Flossie  knew,  would  hail  her  as  a 
leader  and  grovel  at  her  feet ;  she,  who  represented, 
for  her  husband's  family,  an  older  style  than  theirs,  if 
she  would  be  with  them  and  of  them.  And  the  old 
style  of  things,  which  had  satisfied  her  for  fifteen  years, 
was  just  now,  certainly,  beginning  to  bore  her.  The 
drama  of  her  life  lacked  action. 

Well :  whither  should  she  lead  ?  What  next  ? 
Charity,  intellect-,  art,  and  dancing  had  been  worn  to 
the  last  thread  ;  hounds  and  horses  were  in,  just  now; 
and  society,  in  pink  coats  and  silk  jockey-caps,  was 
making  nature's  acquaintance  on  Long  Island  and  in 
Westchester  County.  But  what  on  earth  or  in  the 
waters  under  the  earth  was  to  come  after  this,  Mrs. 
Gower  did  not  yet  know.  Still,  it  was  comforting  to 
feel  that  when  she  did  know,  it  would  be  done ;  this 
was  certainly  a  pleasure;  perhaps  the  only  real  one 
left  to  poor  Flossie  in  her  years  of  disillusion.  As  a 
parvcnue,  she  was  never  tired  of  having  her  will  over 
those  who  had  been  born  her  superiors ;  and  it  is  a 
delightful  novelty  that  in  these  days  of  no  prejudices 
z.parvenue  need  no  longer  climb  to  the  level  of  society, 
but  will  find  it  both  less  troublesome  and  more  tick- 
ling to  the  vanity  to  pull  society  down  to  her. 


IO2  First  Harvests. 

The  free  fancy  of  Mrs.  Gower's  matron  meditation 
was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  deus  with  a 
machina — in  other  words,  by  a  footman  with  Mr. 
Caryl  Wemyss's  visiting-card. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Gower  at  home  ?  "  said  the  footman  ;  and 
he  commanded  larger  wages  for  the  subtle  infusion  of 
"  her  ladyship  "  he  was  able  to  give  a  plain  American 
patronymic  if  used  in  the  third  person.  He  also  had 
calves  ;  and  made  no  other  than  a  financial  objection 
to  silk  stockings,  if  required. 

"  Let  him  come  in,"  said  Flossie ;  and  she  drew  a 
footstool  to  her  and  disposed  herself  more  at  ease,  be- 
fore the  wide  wood-fire. 

Wemyss  entered  perfectly.  There  were  two  man- 
ners of  meeting  ladies  most  in  vogue  at  this  time, 
which  may  perhaps  be  described  as  the  horsey  and 
the  cavalier.  Of  the  former,  which  was  perhaps  the 
more  fashionable,  Jimmy  De  Witt  was  an  excellent 
example ;  he  would  have  come  in  with  boisterous  bon- 
homie, a  stable-boy's  story,  or  a  blunt  approval  of  Flos- 
sie's pretty  ankle,  which  was  being  warmed  before  the 
fire  ;  but  Wemyss  affected  the  old-fashioned,  and  was 
pleased  to  be  conscious  that  his  manners  were,  as  he 
would  have  said,  de  vieillc  rocJie.  He  took  her  hand 
and  bowed  deeply  over  it,  as  if  he  wanted  to  kiss 
it,  but  did  not  dare ;  then,  drawing  a  low  ottoman 
in  front  of  the  fire,  he  sat  down,  as  it  were,  at  her 
feet. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Wemyss,  how  did  you  find  Boston  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Gower,  by  way  of  beginning. 

"  Boston,    my   dear    Mrs.    Gower,    is    impossible. 


Arthur  Meets  a   Wearied  Soul.       103 

There  used  to  be  some  originals,  but  now  there  are 
only  left  their  country  acquaintances,  or  their  self-im- 
posed biographers,  who  feebly  seek  to  shine  by  their 
reflected  light.  Emerson  might  do,  for  the  provinces ; 
but  Emerson's  country  neighbors !  Their  society  is 
one  of  ganaches  and  fe  mines  prdcieuscs — oh,  such  pre- 
cious women! — of  circles,  coteries,  and  clubs,  with 
every  knowledge  but  the  savoir  faire  and  every  sci- 
ence but  the  savoir  vivre  !  " 

"But,"  said  Mrs.  Gower,  "surely  I  have  seen  some 
very  civilized  Bostonians,  at  Newport,  in  the  sum- 
mer?" 

"  You  have — like  a  stage  procession,"  said  Wemyss 
with  a  smile.  "  And  so,  if  you  stand  long  enough  in 
the  window  of  the  club  there,  and  are  fortunate,  you 
may,  of  an  afternoon,  see  Mrs.  Weston's  carriage  and 
footmen  go  down  the  hill ;  and  perhaps,  if  you  smoke 
another  cigar  and  wait,  you  may  be  so  happy  as  to 
see  Mrs.  Weston's  carriage  and  footmen  going  up 
the  hill  again.  The  rest  of  Boston  drive  in  carry- 
alls." 

Mrs.  Gower  laughed.  "  Now  I  always  thought  it 
would  be  such  a  charming  place  to  live  in — so  many 
celebrated  people  have  been  there — so  many  associa- 
tions  " 

"  My  dear  lady,  it  is  consecrated  ground  if  you 
like,"  said  Wemyss,  interrupting.  "And  a  very 
proper  place  to  be  buried  in.  But  I  tried  living  there 
for  three  months." 

"  And  so,  now,  you  are  going  back  to  Paris  ?  " 

"  I  came  on  with  that  intention." 


IO4  First  Harvests. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  then  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  it's  too  late,"  said  Wemyss,  looking  at 
his  watch.  "  My  steamer  sails  at  four." 

Mrs.  Gower  made  a  little  ejaculation  of  surprise; 
and  then  laughed  a  trill  or  two.  "  Mr.  Wemyss,  you 
are  a  great  humbug,"  said  she,  throwing  her  head  back 
upon  the  pink  satin  cushion,  and  looking  at  him  from 
the  corners  of  her  half-closed  eyes. 

"  We  have  to  be, "  said  Wemyss,  with  a  sigh. 
"  Now  there's  the  trouble  of  Boston ;  they  can't  un- 
derstand that.  And  the  six  or  eight  of  us  who  do, 
grow  rusty  for  want  of  practice." 

"  But  you  have  one  another  ?  " 

"We  know  one  another  down  to  the  ground. 
There  is  no  excitement  in  that ;  it  is  playing  double- 
dummy  without  stakes." 

"  And  so  you  are  going  to  Paris  ?  " 

"  And  so  I  was  going  to  Paris  ?  " 

"  But  your  steamer  leaves  at  four,  you  say  ?  What 
are  you  tarrying  here  for  ?  " 

"  Mais,  pour  vos  beaux  yeux " 

"  Mr.  'Olyoke,"  said  the  footman  from  behind  the 
heavy  curtains.  Wemyss  struck  his  two  hands  to- 
gether in  mock  desperation ;  but  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  interruption  was  opportune,  for  he  did  not  in  the 
least  know  what  to  do  next.  There  is  a  certain 
point  in  talk  beyond  which  anything  not  final  is  an 
anti-climax. 

"  Say  you  are  not  at  home,"  said  he,  eagerly. 

But  Mrs.  Gower  chose  to  be  very  gracious  to  Ar- 
thur. She  gave  him  her  hand  with  the  simple  cordi- 


Arthur  Meets  a  Wearied  Soul.       105 

ality  of  a  schoolgirl.  "  I  am  so  glad  you  have  not 
forgotten  our  drive,"  said  she. 

Arthur  had  quite  forgotten  it ;  so  he  filled  up  the 
time  by  bowing  to  Mr.  Wemyss  ;  a  salute  which  that 
gentleman  received  with  some  stiffness.  Mrs.  Gower 
made  a  very  suggestion  of  a  tinkle  in  a  bell  that  stood 
at  her  elbow. 

"jHorridge,  are  the  ponies  ready  ? '' 

"  Mrs.  Gower's  carriage  his  hin  waiting,''  said 
Horridge,  with  a  respectful  gasp  or  two  before  the 
vowels. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Wemyss,"  said  Flossie.  "  I  hope 
you  have  not  missed  your  steamer.  I  must  not  keep 
you  for  one  moment  longer." 

"  I  see  I  shall  have  to  postpone  my  trip/'  said 
Wemyss.  "Madame  !  "  (this  with  much  formality.) 

"Monsieur/"  (Mrs.  Gower  quite  outdid  Mr. 
Wemyss  in  her  exaggeration  of  a  long  curtesy.) 

"  Now,  Mr.  Holyoke,''  said  Flossie,  when  the  cos- 
mopolitan had  departed,  "  I  am  sure  you  will  give  me 
your  company  for  a  drive  in  the  park  ?  " 

If  there  is  no  Englishman  who  would  not  enjoy 
walking  down  Pall  Mall  on  the  arm  of  two  dukes, 
there  is  surely  no  American  who  would  not  like  to  be 
whirled  through  the  world  at  the  side  of  Mrs.  Levi- 
son  Gower.  They  drove  for  an  hour  in  the  park ; 
and  Arthur  had  the  pleasure  of  raising  his  hat  to 
Jimmy  De  Witt,  Miss  Pussie  Duval,  Mrs.  Jack  Mai- 
gam  and  Antoine  Duval,  Jr.,  Killian  Van  Kull,  Char- 
lie Townley,  and  many  others  unknown  to  him  who 
bowed  to  her.  She  talked  to  him  of  books  and  poe- 


106  First  Harvests. 

try ;  of  Heine,'  Rossetti  and  of  Shelley ;  and  the 
tender  tones  of  her  voice  would  have  moved  an  older 
man  than  Arthur  to  sympathy  with  her.  "  I  had 
thought  that  she  was  worldly,"  said  Arthur  to  himself. 
"  There  must  be  some  secret  in  her  life  I  have  not  yet 
discovered/'  (this  was  very  possible,  seeing  he  had 
only  been  with  her  three  hours) — "  some  great  suffer- 
ing or  repression  which  makes  her  wear  this  fashion- 
able garb  as  an  armor  to  veil  her  wounded  heart.  It  is 
despair  that  makes  her  plunge  so  wildly  into  this  Avhirl 
of  company  and  show ;  the  loss  forever  of  something 
she  once  longed  for,  that  drives  her  to  distraction  and 
diversion.  Love  of  pleasure  it  is  surely  not." 

Ah,  poor  Arthur,  no  doctor  ever  yet  of  soul  or 
body  but  gave  a  biassed  diagnosis  of  a  pretty  woman's 
soul.  How  easy  it  is  to  weave  romances  over  soft 
gold  hair!  How  natural  to  read  poetry  and  lost  loves 
in  the  light  of  lovely  eyes  that  look  so  sweetly  now 
in  yours  !  So  good  Bishop  Berkeley  showed  us  that 
we  mortals  see  but  an  image  of  external  things,  an 
inference  from  the  sensation  of  our  own  retina ;  and 
we  silly  men,  like  idolaters,  worship  but  the  image  we 
ourselves  create.  The  lily  of  the  field  still  draws  us, 
not  the  potato-flower,  worthy  vegetable.  And  we 
fondly  assume  that  the  lily  cares  nothing  for  its  vest- 
ment ;  that  it  toils  not,  nor  spins,  and  has  its  eye 
upon  the  stars  alone. 

Arthur  now  really  felt  that  he  was  a  friend  of  Flos- 
sie Oower's.  His  favorite  poems  were  all  hers,  and 
she  quoted  from  many  of  them,  with  sighs.  She  had 
shown  to  him  what  the  cynic  world  had  never  seen, 


Arthur  Meets  a  Wearied  Soul.       107 

the  regrets  and  longings  that  lay  beneath  the  pearls 
and  laces  that  clothed  her  heart's  casement ;  the  true 
woman,  not  the  fashionable  figure  known  to  others. 
How  pleasant  it  was,  to  have  a  friend  like  her ;  one 
whose  own  life  was  over,  and  had  all  the  more  sym- 
pathy, for  that,  with  lives  of  others.  She  asked  him 
to  come  and  see  her  whenever  he  liked ;  and  Arthur 
thought  how  comforting  it  would  be,  to  go  to  this 
woman  for  sympathy  and  advice,  so  much  older  than 
he,  and  yet  so  young  at  heart ! 

So  seriously  did  Arthur  think  all  this,  that  it  quite 
jarred  upon  him  when  Charlie  met  him  on  his  re- 
turn and  boisterously  complimented  him.  "  Well, 
old  man,  you  are  going  it,  and  no  mistake !  "  (Mrs. 
Gower's  name  was  pronounced  Go-er,  which  gave  op- 
portunity for.  endless  puns.)  "  I  say,  old  fellow,  you 
come  down  fresh  from  the  pastures  like  what-d'ye- 
callem — Endymion — Adonis,  or  the  other  masher — 
and  sail  to  windward  of  the  whole  squadron  !  " 

Arthur  shook  Townley  off  a  little  impatiently,  and 
refused  to  dine  at  the  club,  as  he  requested.  But, 
taking  dinner  alone,  with  the  other  boarders,  he  could 
not  but  say  to  himself  that  they  were  not  pleasing  to 
him ;  their  minds  seemed  narrow  and  their  ways  un- 
couth. They  were  more  affable  than  on  the  first  day, 
perhaps  because  it  was  the  evening,  not  the  morning  ; 
there  was  even  a  certain  clumsy  attention  in  the  man- 
ner of  one  or  two  of  the  younger  men,  as  if  they  would 
laugh  at  his  stories,  were  he  to  tell  any.  After  din- 
ner, he  read  a  novel  in  his  study  with  a  cigar,  feeling 
comparatively  comfortable  in  the  rooms,  which  already 


io8  First  Harvests. 

seemed  less  strange  to  him  ;  and  at  eleven  o'clock  he 
went  to  Miss  Farnum's  party.  (One  always  spoke  of 
Miss  Farnum,  Miss  Farnum's  house,  Miss  Farnum's 
dinners — not  her  mother's.)  Townley,  true  to  his  in- 
tention previously  expressed,  was  not  there  ;  the 
dressing-room  was  full  of  very  young  men,  pulling  on 
gloves  and  chattering ;  one  older  gentleman  with  a 
fine  pair  of  shoulders  and  an  honest  face  was  in  the 
corner  next  Arthur,  and  attracted  the  latter  by  his 
looks.  "  I  wonder  where  they  keep  their  brushes," 
was  all  he  said  ;  but  he  said  it  pleasantly  ;  and  Arthur 
and  he  walked  down  together. 

Miss  Farnum,  who  was  a  marvellously  beautiful 
young  woman,  met  them  almost  at  the  door.  "  Ah, 
I  see  you  know  one  another  already,''  said  she. 

"  But  we  don't,"  said  the  stranger,  smiling ;  and 
Arthur  was  introduced  to  him  as  Mr.  Haviland.  Then 
Miss  Farnum  turned  to  present  Arthur  to  her  mother ; 
which  formality  over,  our  hero  found  himself  very 
much  alone  ;  and  he  naturally  drifted  away  into  a  cor- 
ner, where  he  found  Mr.  Haviland  awaiting  him.  It 
was  pleasant  enough  to  stand  there  and  watch  the 
influx  of  young  beauties ;  girl  after  girl  came  in,  in 
clouds  of  pink  or  white,  bowed  and  curtesied  at  the 
door,  and  drifted  into  the  comparative  quiet  of  the 
main  dancing-room,  where  they  eddied  around  by  twos 
and  threes,  waiting  to  be  accosted  by  simpering  youth. 
Haviland  was  very  civil  to  him,  and  introduced  him 
to  many  of  them;  so  that  Arthur  found  himself 
walking  and  dancing  first  with  a  blonde  in  blue  or 
white,  next  with  a  brune  in  pink  or  yellow ;  they 


Arthur  Meets  a  Wearied  Soul.       109 

were  all  lovely,  but  it  was  difficult  to  permanently 
differentiate  their  natures  in  one's  mind. 

The  ball  was  a  very  brilliant  one,  and  the  rooms 
were  full ;  many  of  the  ladies  were  pretty,  and  all 
seemed  rich  and  well  educated.  But  there  was  an  in- 
definable spirit  of  unrest,  of  effort  at  shining,  of  social 
anxiety,  which  struck  Arthur  as  a  new  note  in  his 
New  York  social  experiences  ;  and  Charlie  Townley's 
patronising  remarks  recurred  again  to  him.  When  he 
went  back  to  Miss  Farnum,  her  reception  duties  were 
over ;  they  had  a  waltz  together,  and  then  wandered 
into  a  conservatory  for  cool  and  rest. 

"  How  different  it  all  seems  from  New  Haven,"  was 
Arthur's  first  remark ;  and  she  said  yes,  it  did  ;  and 
asked  him  if  he  were  really  living  in  New  York,  and 
if  it  was  not  Mr.  Townley  with  whom  she  had  seen 
him  walking  the  other  day. 

"  Mr.  Townley  is  a  great  friend  of  mine,  you  must 
know ;  and  I  think  it  is  too  bad  of  him  not  to  come 
to-night.  And,  by  the  way — whom  were  you  with  in 
the  park  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  With  Mrs.  Gower,"  said  Arthur. 

"Mrs.  Gower?  Mrs.  Levison  Gower?  Was  it? 
I  didn't  see — "  and  no  one  would  have  guessed  that 
the  acquaintance  of  the  lady  mentioned  was  yet  an 
unrealised  dream  to  Miss  Farnum.  She  led  Arthur 
off  soon  after,  and  presented  him  to  some  of  her  most 
particular  friends ;  Arthur  was  so  fortunate  as  to  se- 
cure one  of  these  young  ladies — Miss  Marie  Vander- 
pool — for  the  german  ;  and  they  had  seats  very  near 
the  head.  Altogether,  Arthur  was  in  the  high  tide  of 


no  First  Harvests. 

social  favor ;  and  nearly  every  one  whom  he  met 
talked  to  him  of  Mrs.  Gower,  and  he  marvelled  a 
little  that  that  lady — who  had  spoken  almost  tragi- 
cally to  him  of  her  loneliness — should  have  so  many 
dear  and  admiring  friends.  When  he  went  home, 
it  was  with  three  or  four  tinsel  orders  at  his  button- 
hole ;  and  Haviland,  whose  coat-collar  was  yet  un- 
decorated,  met  him  in  the  hall. 

"  Are  you  going  the  same  way  ?  "  said  he  to  Ar- 
thur; and  when  it  turned  out  that  they  were,  he 
asked  him  to  drop  in  and  have  a  cigar.  Haviland 
knew  that  Arthur  was  a  stranger  in  the  city ;  and  it 
soon  turned  out  that  they  had  one  or  two  acquaint- 
ances in  common.  Then,  as  is  the  way  of  men,  their 
conversation  drifted  to  the  last  pretty  face  they  had 
seen — Kitty  Farnum.  "  She  is  a  great  friend  of  mine, 
and  I  stayed  until  the  end  on  her  account,"  said 
Haviland ;  though  I  don't  dance.  "  They  stopped 
at  Haviland's  house ;  and  entering,  Arthur  was  in- 
ducted into  the  most  delightful  bachelor  rooms,  down 
stairs,  rilled  with  books,  weapons,  and  implements  for 
smoking. 

"  Yes,"  said  Haviland,  speaking  of  Miss  Farnum  ; 
"  and  it's  a  great  pity  to  see  her  going  as  she  is  now. 
Why  "  (he  went  on,  in  answer  to  an  inquiring  look 
from  Arthur)  "  she  is  wild  upon  getting  into  society, 
as  she  calls  it,  or  her  mother  is  for  her.  There  is  a 
girl,  rich,  beautiful,  refined,  well  educated,  and  she 
positively  looks  up  to  a  set  of  people  the  whole  of 
whom  aren't  worth  her  little  finger,,  as  if  they  were 
divinities." 


Arthur  Meets  a  Wearied  Soul.       1 1 1 

"  It  certainly  seems  very  funny,  if  it's  true,"  said 
Arthur. 

"  Funny  ?  "  fumed  Haviland,  "  I  assure  you  they 
are  as  much  her  inferiors  as  they  would  have  her 
theirs.  Fashion  is  a  vulgar  word,  and  fashionable 
people  are  a  fast,  vulgar  set ;  fast,  because  they  are 
too  empty-headed  and  uncultivated  to  enjoy  any 
pleasure  of  taste  or  intellect,  and  vulgar  because  they 
are  too  stupid  to  understand  any  other  superiority 
than  that  of  mere  display." 

Haviland  spoke  almost  savagely,  intemperately,  as 
it  seemed  to  Arthur,  about  such  a  trivial  thing.  "  Can 
he  be  in  love  with  her  ? "  thought  he ;  and  he  won- 
dered why  h-e  told  him  all  this. 

"  It's  her  mother,"  Haviland  went  on,  "  she  has 
brought  her  up  to  marry  some  fine  Englishman,  and 
wants  to  get  New  York  at  her  feet  first." 

And  Arthur,  who  had  noticed  how  intimate  Havi- 
land had  seemed  with  Kitty  Farnum  that  evening 
thought  that  he  had  discovered  his  secret.  Their  con- 
versation then  took  a  serious  turn,  to  their  mutual 
profit  and  pleasure ;  and  when  Arthur  finally  went 
home,  the  night  was  going  away,  and  the  business  of 
the  day  beginning.  He  liked  Haviland  better  than 
any  man  he  had  met,  thus  far,  in  New  York.  But 
still,  his  ideas  were  changing. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

THE  STORY  OF  A  QUIET  SUNDAY  EVENING. 

[UNDAY  was  a  long-looked-for  day  to  Ar- 
thur. It  was  only  the  second  Sunday 
after  his  arrival  in  New  York;  but  it  was 
as  if  he  had  been  many  months  in  the  city 
already ;  and  on  the  evening  thereof  he  was  to  take 
tea  at  the  Livingstones'. 

Tea  is  not  a  formal  meal ;  and  surely  it  could  do  no 
harm  if  he  went  there  early  ?  It  was  almost  six 
o'clock,  and  well  on  in  the  twilight  when  he  arrived 
at  the  house ;  Miss  Holyoke  was  in  the  parlor,  the 
servant  said ;  the  other  ladies  were  up-stairs.  The 
low  tones  of  a  piano  reached  his  ear  as  the  man  was 
speaking ;  and  Arthur  recognized  a  soft  and  serious 
Bach  prelude,  very  quiet,  very  tender,  very  old  in 
melody  and  simple  chords.  It  was  a  favorite  piece  of 
Gracie's ;  and  Arthur  stood  at  the  door,  unseen,  and 
watched  her  play.  Her  black  dress  and  slender  figure 
was  just  visible  in  the  faint  light  that  came  in  from 
some  other  room ;  but  her  face,  sweet  and  pale,  was 
clearly  outlined  against  the  long  window  and  the  last 
light  of  the  November  day  ;  it  touched  her  chin  and 
brow  and  her  parted  lips ;  and  the  look  of  these  was 
like  the  music  she  was  playing.  The  prelude  died 


Story  of  a  Quiet  Sitnday  Evening.     113 

away,  in  minor  modulations,  like  a  low  amen ;  and 
.  Gracie  sat  playing  idly  with  the  ivory  notes,  her  head 
drooping,  and  a  dim  shining  from  the  firelight  in  her 
dark  hair. 

When  the  others  came  down,  they  found  these  two 
sitting  together,  like  brother  and  sister,  and  talking  in 
low  voices  to  each  other.  Arthur  knew  Mrs.  Living- 
stone ;  but  the  others  of  the  family  were  still  stran- 
gers to  him.  Mr.  Livingstone  was  an  old  man,  much 
bent,  with  older  manners  and  appearance  than  his 
years  warranted ;  then  there  was  an  only  daughter, 
Mamie,  and  a  favorite  cousin  of  Mr.  Livingstone's, 
Miss  Brevier.  Mamie  Livingstone  was  a  pretty  young 
girl,  with  slightly  petulant  manners,  as  if  she  had  been 
a  little  spoiled ;  she  had  a  wonderfully  mobile  face, 
and  quick  intelligent  eyes,  and  was  evidently  warm- 
hearted and  impulsive,  and  very  fond  already  of  her 
cousin  Grace.  She  regarded  Arthur  critically,  and 
with  some  disapproval;  in  fact,  she  snubbed  him 
more  completely  than  that  young  gentleman  had  yet 
been  snubbed — thanks  to  Mrs.  Gower — in  New  York. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Townley,  mamma  ?  "  said  she,  im- 
periously. "  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Townley." 

"  Hush,  Mamie,"  said  Mrs.  Livingstone,  slightly 
shocked  ;  and  the  old  gentleman  looked  at  his  daugh- 
ter with  a  meek  astonishment,  as  is  so  often  the  way 
with  contemporary  parents.  Charlie  had  been  invited 
in  acknowledgment  of  his  kindness  to  Arthur. 

"  Mr.  Townley,"  said  Mr.  Livingstone  in  a  quaver- 
ing voice,  "  is  a  very  old  friend  of  mine,  in  whom  I 
have   always   had   the  greatest    confidence.     I    have 
8 


ii4  First  Harvests. 

yet  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  his  young — connec- 
tion." 

"  They  say  he  waltzes  like  an  angel,"  said  Mamie 
the  irrepressible;  and  just  then  the  door-bell  rang,  and 
the  subject  of  their  conversation  appeared,  with  his 
usual  irreproachable  exterior.  Arthur  had  never  seen 
him  so  subdued  ;  he  sat  next  to  Miss  Mamie,  but 
treated  her  quite  du  haut  en  bas,  talking  much  to  Mr. 
Livingstone.  Arthur  could  see  that  he  was  on  his 
best  behavior;  and  his  best  behavior  was  extremely 
unobjectionable,  though  he  came  very  near  being 
caught  in  the  middle  of  some  airy  personality  when 
Mr.  Livingstone  inaugurated  the  meal  by  saying  grace. 

After  tea  was  over,  Miss  Mamie  manoeuvred  Char- 
lie into  a  remote  corner,  where  he  seemed  to  find  her 
more  worthy  his  attention.  The  evening  was  very 
quiet ;  Mr.  Livingstone  gravely  reading  some  review, 
and  addressing  from  time  to  time  a  solitary  remark  to 
his  wife,  who  sat  with  her  hands  folded,  placidly. 
Gracie  talked  to  Arthur  of  himself,  and  our  hero  told 
her  of  all  that  had  happened  since  he  came  to  New 
York.  Her  life  had,  of  course,  been  a  quiet  one,  di- 
vided between  books,  her  music,  and  charitable  occu- 
pations. In  all  these  Miss  Brevier  had  encouraged 
and  assisted  her ;  Gracie  spoke  very  warmly  of  her, 
her  intelligence  and  character.  This  was  after  Miss 
Brevier,  in  the  other  room,  had  begun  reading  aloud 
to  the  old  couple,  in  a  low  and  sweet,  but  very  clearly 
modulated  voice. 

"  When  can  I  come  next  ?  "  said  Arthur  to  Gracie 
as  they  rose  to  go.  There  was  a  sweetness  in  her 


Story  of  a  Quiet  Siinday  Evening.     115 

presence  that  had  won  his  heart  a  thousand  times 
again ;  she  seemed  a  rarer  being,  in  this  peopled  city ; 
he  adored  her. 

"You  must  not  come  often,  dear  Arthur — my  aunt 
thinks  it  better  for  us  both.  She  thinks  that  we  are 
both  too  young,  and  that  you  must  try  a  year  or  two 
in  society  to  make  sure  that  you  really  care  for  me — 
and  I  for  you,"  she  added,  in  a  tone  hardly  audible. 
Arthur's  only  answer  was  to  press  her  hand  ;  and  so 
they  parted. 

When  they  got  into  the  street,  Townley  lit  a  large 
cigar,  with  a  slight  sigh  of  relief.  "  Lively  little  girl, 
that  Miss  Livingstone,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  say,  old 
man,  what  an  evening !  No  wonder  she  wants  to 
come  out." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  found  it  slow,"  said  Arthur,  test- 
ily. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  know  it's  devilish  respectable  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,"  said  Charlie.  "  Good  middle- 
class  domestic  life;  they're  just  like  our  grandfathers, 
and  our  grandfathers  were  nothing  but  bourgeois  after 
all ;  that  little  girl  will  sink  all  that,  or  I'm  mistaken. 
Come  round  by  Sixth  Avenue  a  minute,  will  you  ?" 

There  was  a  certain  incongruity  in  Charlie's  words, 
as  it  seemed  to  Arthur  ;  it  might  have  been  Wemyss 
who  was  speaking,  instead  of  this  careless  young  Epi- 
curean, who  usually  troubled  himself  little  with  ab- 
stractions and  general  categories,  but  occupied  his 
understanding  with  perceiving  the  most  practical  sort 
of  causes  and  effects.  The  fact  was  that  Townley 
had  used  the  current  slang  of  his  set,  word-counters 


n6  First  Harvests. 

for  thought,  and  his  mind  was  already  far  from  the 
subject,  and  his  lips  framed  to  the  whistle  of  an  air 
from  "  lolanthe."  They  turned  into  Sixth  Avenue 
(which  is  a  strange,  conglomerate  street — insolently 
disreputable  at  times,  elsewhere  commercially  pros- 
perous, or  even  given  to  small  tradesmen  and  other 
healthy  citizenship,  but  always,  in  its  earlier  days,  at 
least,  rakishly  indifferent  to  brown-stone-front  respect- 
ability) and  stopped  at  a  little  shop  in  a  tiny  two- 
story  brick  block.  On  the  left  was  a  little  glass  door, 
with  the  simple  legend  Rose  Marie  upon  the  panel  ; 
and  in  front  of  them  a  toy  staircase,  leading  to  the 
imminent  upper  regions.  Through  the  glass  of  the 
door  Arthur  could  see  one  or  two  bonnets  on  pegs  in 
the  window,  and  he  divined  that  the  shop  was  a 
milliner's.  "  Is  Miss  Starbuck  in  ?  "  said  Charlie  to 
a  child  who  appeared  with  a  candle.  The  child  (who 
was  either  deformed  or  very  old-looking  for  her  age) 
looked  keenly  at  Arthur,  whose  eyes  fell  helplessly 
before  her  searching  gaze. 

"  She  has  gone  to  a  concert  at  the  Garden,"  said  the 
child.  As  they  spoke,  there  was  a  murmur  of  men's 
voices  from  an  adjoining  room,  and  a  rough  clatter  of 
applause,  with  knocking  of  heels  and  sticks. 

"  All  right,"  said  Townley.  "  Good-night."  And 
after  this  somewhat  inexplicable  call  the  two  young 
men  went  back  to  their  Fifth  Avenue  lodgings.  Here 
they  found  John  Haviland,  largely  reposing  himself 
on  two  chairs  before  Arthur's  hospitable  hearth. 

Haviland  and  Arthur  had  met  many  times  since 
the  Farnum  ball ;  and  Arthur  was  more  pleased  than 


Story  of  a   Qiiiet  Sunday  Evening.      117 

surprised  at  finding  him  in  his  rooms  to-night.  "  I'm 
so  glad  you  waited — I've  just  come  from  the  Living- 
stones," said  he.  "  Charlie,  let  me  introduce  my 
friend  Mr.  Haviland — Mr.  Townley.  Have  a  cigar 
— oh,  you've  got  a  pipe,  have  you  ?" 

The  others  already  had  cigars ;  and  disposing  them- 
selves in  attitudes  of  permanent  equilibrium,  all 
plunged  into  the  divine  cloud  of  vapor  until  such 
times  as  the  genius  of  the  place  should  move  them  to 
speech. 

"  Is  the  Miss  Holyoke  who  is  staying  at  the  Liv- 
ingstones' your  cousin  ? ''  asked  Haviland,  finally. 

"  Yes,"  said  Arthur.     "  Don't  you  know  her?  " 

"What  a  queer  old  thing  that  Miss  Brevier  is," 
said  Charlie.  "  Can  you  believe  it,  she  used  to  be  a 
bosom-friend  of  Mrs.  Levison  G.  ! " 

"  Pity  Miss  Brevier  dropped  her,"  said  Haviland, 
dryly. 

"Miss  Brevier  drop  her?"  said  Charlie,  whose 
sense  of  humor  was  sometimes,  at  a  critical  moment, 
deficient.  "  You  are  chaffing." 

"  Mrs.  Gower,"  said  Haviland,  gravely,  "  does  more 
harm  than  any  woman  in  New  York." 

"  She  is  a  person  of  European  reputation,"  sug- 
gested Townley. 

"  She  is  unquestionably  proficient  in  the  latest  and 
silliest  vices  of  the  aristocracies  we  came  over  here  to 
escape  from,"  retorted  John. 

Townley  laughed  a  little,  while  Haviland  puffed 
vigorously  at  his  pipe. 

"I  say,  Arthur  ?"  said   the   former,    "speaking   of 


n8  first  Harvests. 

Mrs.  G.,  have  they  asked  you  to  join  the  Four-in- 
HandClub?" 

"What's  that?" 

"  It's  a  club  organized  for  the  purpose  of  driving 
twice  a  year  up  to  Yonkers  with  string  teams  and  liv- 
eries, and  showing  your  most  esteemed  young  ladies 
in  flaring  light-colored  dresses  to  all  the  sidewalk 
population  of  New  York,"  broke  in  Haviland,  "  and 
paying  four  thousand  a  year  for  the  privilege  !  " 

"  What  rot,"  laughed  Charlie.  "  In  the  first  place, 
it  needn't  cost  you  one  thousand  a  year,  for  one  wheel 
apiece.  Four  fellows  can  own  a  drag  together,  you 
know.  And  it's  great  fun.  Mrs.  Gower  got  it  up, 
and  all  the  boys  belong.  Why,  old  Mosenthal  came 
to  me  the  other  day  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  offered 
to  keep  two  full-rigged  drags,  if  we'd  only  let  him 
come  in — and  lend  me  one  of  'em,  he  meant,"  added 
Charlie  with  a  grin. 

"  How  cheap  for  him,"  growled  the  other,  "  if  he 
could  buy  the  envy  and  consideration  of  the  society 
of  this  great  republic  for  the  price  of  a  few  horses  ! " 

Townley's  good-nature  never  forsook  him ;  but  he 
looked  at  Haviland  as  if  puzzled  ;  and  the  latter  rose 
to  go.  "  I  called  on  the  Livingstones  last  week," 
said  he  to  Arthur,  "and  met  your  cousin.  Good- 
night, Mr.  Townley." 

"  What  a  prig  he  is,"  said  Charlie,  with  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief when  Haviland  had  gone.  "  I  always  supposed 
it,  from  his  looks.  I  knew  that  he  refused  to  join  the 
Four-in-Hand  Club ;  and  you  hardly  ever  meet  him 
in  society — except  at  some  queer  place  like  the  Far- 


Story  of  a   Quiet  Sunday  Evening.     119 

nums'  for  instance.  He  mugs  down  town  at  his  of- 
fice all  the  day,  and  improves  his  mind  in  the  even- 
ing, I  suppose,  or  reads  goody-goody  stories  to  little 
Italian  children,  down  on  Baxter  Street !  He's  good 
as  gold,  you  know." 

"  Don't  you  ever  mean  to  work  yourself  ? "  asked 
Arthur. 

"  Not  that  way,"  laughed  Charlie.  "  It's  not  in  my 
line.  Books  and  things  are  played  out,  I  tell  you." 
But  the  full  account  of  his  plans  of  life  Charlie  was 
too  canny  to  impart,  perhaps  even  to  admit  to  him- 
self. 

For  Charlie  had  not  always  been  thus.  There  was 
a  time  when  he  was  fresh  from  Princeton  College,  and 
he  used  to  fill  his  table  with  English  and  foreign  re- 
views, and  could  talk  intelligently  of  their  contents. 
He  had  begun  his  business  life  with  enthusiasm,  and 
was  only  known  as  a  promising  athlete  outside  of  it. 
He  showed  great  industry  at  the  office,  and  some 
ability,  and  had  been  referred  to  by  his  elders  as  a 
well-informed  young  man. 

But  Charlie  was  a  smart  fellow,  wide  awake,  and  it 
did  not  take  him  long  to  get,  as  he  fancied,  cttsorientt. 
Suddenly,  the  second  or  third  autumn  of  his  busi- 
ness career,  he  had  given  up  his  reading,  dropped  his 
industry  and  early  hours,  and,  for  reasons  well  known 
to  himself,  he  became  the  Charlie  Townley  known  to 
us  and  the  world.  He  had  almost  abandoned  Wall 
Street  for  the  Piccadilly  Club  and  the  Park ;  he 
dropped  out  of  sight,  on  'Change,  and  reappeared  smil- 
ing in  "  society."  And  so  well  did  he  play  his  cards, 


I2O  First  Harvests. 

that  he,  a  poor  and  almost  friendless  stranger,  with- 
out money  or  influence,  with  but  one  solitary  advan- 
tage, that  of  a  name  not  unknown  in  New  York,  had 
become — it  would  be  premature  to  say  what  he  had 
become,  or  why  he  did  it ;  like  all  great  generals,  he 
had  his  strategy,  not  to  be  fathomed  by  the  enemy, 
still  less  by  emulous  friends.  Let  us  stick  to  the 
what,  nor  pry  into  the  why  or  wherefore. 

What  he  did,  then,  was  to  become  the  most  ineffa- 
ble dandy  in  all  New  York.  With  perfect  clothing 
and  fine  linen,  the  exactly  new  thing  in  sticks  and 
hats,  and  a  single  eyeglass  decorously  veiling  his  in- 
tellect and  dangerously  wide-awake  eye,  Charlie  had 
become  that  thing  of  which  the  name  may  change 
from  dandy  to  lion,  from  buck  to  swell,  from  blood 
to  dude,  but  the  nature  endureth  forever.  But  this 
was  but  dressing  the  part,  it  was  merely  the  transfor- 
mation of  the  exterior,  the  travesti ;  it  was  here  that 
Charlie's  career  began.  He  only  spoke  to  those  whom 
others  spoke  to,  and  said  only  those  things  that  others 
thought ;  he  preferred  married  women  to  the  society 
of  maidens,  even  to  the  charm  of  blushing  buds; 
though  he  selected  one  or  two  virgin  beauties  every 
season  to  whom  he  royally  threw  an  occasional  sun- 
beam of  his  society.  These  were  always  faultless 
either  in  family,  or  in  beauty,  or  in  fashion — for 
Charlie  was  catholic  in  his  recognition  of  merit — and 
they  appreciated  the  word  or  look  he  grudgingly  ac- 
corded them  and  were  duly  grateful.  Soon,  his  ap- 
proval would  give  a  cachet  to  almost  any  girl ;  but 
careless  Charlie  was  all  unconscious ;  girls  were  slow, 


Story  of  a   Quiet  Sunday  Evening.     121 

he  said.  Mrs.  Gower,  Mrs.  Malgam,  Mrs.  Jacob 
Einstein,  formed  his  court.  With  these  he  reigned  ; 
by  them  he  was  taken  up  and  formed,  and  later,  by 
them  adored,  as  the  heathen  worship  the  brass  or 
wooden  idol  they  themselves  have  made.  This  was 
at  the  time  when  Mrs.  G.  had  gone  in  for  belles-let- 
tres ;  she  and  Townley  read  de  Musset  and  Balzac 
together,  and  Theophile  Gautier's  poems.  Who 
would  have  supposed  that  Charlie  had  ever  read  de 
Musset !  It  was  at  the  same  period  that  Levison 
Gower,  Senior,  died,  and  Mrs.  G.  adopted  the  hy- 
phen ;  there  was  an  English  titled  family  of  that 
name,  and  she  fancied  the  difference  of  one  vowel 
would  only  lend  a  vraisemblance  to  the  descent ;  but 
so.ciety  saw  the  joke  and  called  her  Lady  Levison  for 
all  one  season.  There  never  had  been  any  Levison 
in  the  Gower  family  ;  Gower  senior's  father  had  come 
from  Connecticut,  and  his  first  name  was  John  Lewis. 
The  family  estate  consisted  of  an  old  farm-house  and 
a  few  acres  near  Windsor  Locks ;  the  house  is  now 
burned  down,  and  upon  the  ancestral  acres  grows 
rank  tobacco. 

What  precious  humbug  is  all  this  !  Well,  well,  let 
us  not  despise  humbug;  nihil  liumani  alienum.  Let 
us  rather  see  this  humbug  ;  let  us  put  it  on  a  pin,  and 
examine  this  insect.  You  may  be  sure  Charlie  found 
his  account  therein.  Frivolity  is  a  word  for  dullards ; 
I  wish  the  ministers  could  enforce  their  precepts  half 
as  well  as  the  dressmakers.  Fashion  is  a  marvellous 
potency,  the  public  opinion  of  small  things ;  in  a 
democracy  who  can  despise  it  ?  As  I  write,  fashion 


122  First  Harvests. 

tells  our  womankind,  Put  birds  upon  thy  bonnet ; 
and  lo !  four  hundred  thousand  women  in  New  York 
alone  wear  fowls.  How  many  years  ago  was  it,  now, 
that  some  one  said,  Sell  all  that  thou  hast  and  give 
it  to  the  poor  ?  And  four  hundred  thousand  in  the 
world  have  done  it,  not  yet. 

As  for  Charlie — in  Mrs.  Edgeworth,  or  in  "  Sand- 
ford  and  Merton,"  or  other  book  of  our  childhood 
I  once  read  a  fable :  how  Honesty,  Industry,  and 
Ability  formed  a  partnership  for  the  acquirement  of 
ambergris  from  whales.  And  Ability  caught  a  hun- 
dred whales  in  the  first  year,  and  Industry  carefully 
separated  from  all  these  whales  a  few  ounces  of  am- 
bergris, and  Honesty  sold  this  ambergris  for  a  large 
sum  of  money.  And  Rapacity,  who  had  been  lying 
by,  laughing,  all  this  time,  signed  the  check  and  took 
the  ambergris ;  and  lo !  the  check  was  worthless. 
And  Society  looked  on  and  laughed,  and  said  Ra- 
pacity was  a  smart  fellow ;  and  in  the  next  year  there 
were  many  worthless  checks,  but  no  ambergris. 

Now  Charlie  was  not  Rapacity;  but  he  was  a 
clever  fellow  and  could  see  this  and  other  fables  as 
they  were  enacted  before  his  eyes.  And  he  would 
not  steal ;  nor  would  he  go  to  the  North  Pole  and 
search  for  whales.  But  he  was  in  search  of  les  moyens 
de  parvenir. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  COMMUNIST  AND  HIS  SISTER. 

JEANTIME  a  discussion  upon  society  in  gen- 
eral and  other  things  in  particular,  some- 
thing like  that  of  Haviland  and  Townley, 
was  going  on  in  the  back  shop  of  the  little 
brick  store  upon  Sixth  Avenue.  A  certain  James 
Starbuck  had  lodgings  therewith  his  sister;  that  is, 
he  was  usually  there  when  he  was  in  New  York. 
But  this  his  occupation  seldom  permitted  ;  for  he  was 
employed  as  a  sort  of  small  paymaster  or  inspector  of 
the  great  Allegheny  Central  Company,  a  corporation 
which  owned  coal-mines,  oil-wells,  pipe-lines,  factories, 
bonds,  stocks,  and  other  contracts  so  complex  that 
the  mind  of  even  its  owner  grew  confused  at  thinking 
of  it.  Starbuck  was  a  slender,  pale,  narrow-chested 
American  mechanic,  whose  bright  eyes  contrasted 
strikingly  with  his  feeble  frame  and  stooping  shoulders, 
and  whose  sharp  look  betokened  an  unhealthy  intel- 
ligence. His  work  was  one  which  did  not,  however, 
require  manual  exertion,  and  he  did  it  faithfully. 
His  sister  Jenny  was  very  different  in  appearance ; 
handsome,  fond  of  pleasure,  high  spirited,  they  had 
only  their  cleverness  in  common. — But  with  Jenny's 
case  we  have  nothing  to  do. 


124  First  Harvests. 

Of  course,  the  reader,  on  the  alert  for  coincidences 
and  dovetailings  of  plot  (as  one  always  is  in  a  novel, 
however  veracious)  has  noticed  that  the  name  of 
Starbuck  is  not  strange  to  this  story ;  and  has  smiled 
to  himself,  superior,  as  his  sagacity  foresaw  a  link  of 
connection  in  this  fact.  But  was  James  Starbuck  a 
cousin  of  clever,  fashionable,  refined  Flossie  ?  Star- 
buck  did  not  know  it.  What,  in  active,  progressive 
America,  in  the  migrating  America  of  the  last  fifty 
years,  need  a  man  know  of  his  antecedents?  They 
go  for  little  in  his  life.  Starbuck  remembered  his  fa- 
ther well  enough  ;  and  how  he  had  struggled  from 
pillar  to  post,  from  one  frowzy  city  street  to  another, 
with  the  jaded,  tawdry  woman  who  was  his  wife ; 
until  one  day,  from  a  new  and  prosperous  little  city 
in  the  oil  regions  of  Pennsylvania,  he  had  gone,  never 
to  be  seen  or  heard  of  after,  by  wife  or  child.  And 
there  they  had  lived,  as  they  had  been  left  there ;  and 
his  mother  took  to  dress-making  and  a  boarding- 
house  for  miners,  and  his  pretty  sister  had  been  sent 
to  the  public  schools,  and  he  had  found  work  with 
the  Company.  His  sister  went  through  the  High 
School,  and  then  came  home  discontented  ;  she  could 
not  bear  their  mode  of  life,  nor  like  her  mother's 
boarders — great  hulking  fellows  who  came  home  at 
night  grimy  from  the  wells  and  mines,  and  were,  at 
best,  but  laboring-men,  though  they  had  money 
enough.  Then  her  mother  had  died  ;  and  her  broth- 
er had  proved  unequal  to  the  actual  labor  of  the  busi- 
ness; but  his  quickness,  his  Yankee  intelligence,  had 
not  gone  unobserved,  and  he  had  been  given  this  sort 


A    Communist  and  His  Sister.        125 

of  clerkship  or  travelling  agency,  which  made  it  pos- 
sible for  him  to  live  at  either  end  of  the  line.  But 
he  could  not  support  her  yet,  though  she  persuaded 
him  to  move  to  New  York ;  and  she  quickly  found  a 
place  with  Rose  Marie,  who  was  a  little,  beady-eyed 
old  Frenchwoman,  and  slept  in  the  remotest  attic- 
chamber,  so  that  she  grew  to  be  rather  a  myth,  and 
Jenny's  friends  used  to  disbelieve  in  her  existence, 
and  called  Jenny  Rose  Marie,  in  joke. 

But  we,  who  know  everything,  will  not  attempt  to 
escape  the  reader's  perspicacity.  Yes  (though  it  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  story),  James  Starbuck  was  in 
fact  the  grandson  of  that  old  whaling-captain  Obed, 
Flossie's  father's  elder  brother — he  would  have  been 
her  second  cousin,  then — quite  too  far  for  city  kin  to 
be  counted,  even  had  Mrs.  Gower  known  anything 
about  it.  His  father,  by  some  curious  chance,  atavism, 
or  some  other  influence,  had  taken  after  the  uncle,  and 
ceased  to  follow  the  sea;  but,  not  like  his  uncle,  he 
had  not  prospered,  and  had  lived  upon  the  world 
when  he  could ;  when  he  could  not,  he  brought  his 
wife  back  to  her  home  in  the  small  country  town  in 
Connecticut.  The  father  was  one  of  those  curious  fel- 
lows who  turn  their  hand  to  anything,  and  of  whom 
the  best  you  can  say  is  that  they  are  hardly  respect- 
able, and  the  worst  that  they  don't  quite  deserve  to  be 
hanged.  Their  lives  are  one  long  misdemeanor,  but 
(unless  we  count  fraudulent  bankruptcy,  and  except 
an  occasional  bigamy)  they  rarely  commit  a  crime. 
This  Horace  Starbuck  had  his  ups  and  his  downs,  his 
ins  and  his  outs  ;  but  the  friends  and  the  places  of  his 


126  First  Harvests. 

prosperity  knew  him  not  in  his  adversity,  and  vice 
versa.  There  was  no  more  continuity  to  his  career 
than  there  is  to  a  string  of  cheap  assorted  beads  ;  and 
I  doubt  if  even  the  devil  took  any  serious  interest  in 
him.  He  was  clever,  too,  in  a  way,  with  that  com- 
mon-school education  no  person  born  in  New  England 
can  be  without ;  he  had  made  an  invention,  and 
owned  a  patent  or  two  in  the  course  of  his  life,  and 
formed  several  corporations,  in  Connecticut  and  else- 
where, for  their  exploitation.  It  chanced  that  in  one 
of  these  (it  was  upon  a  patent  for  machine-made  shirts) 
some  stockholder  had  actually  paid  up  his  stock;  this 
lucky  chance  was  the  means  of  bringing  seven  thou- 
sand dollars  into  Horace  Starbuck's  pocket,  the  largest 
sum  he  ever  possessed  at  any  one  time  of  his  life.  He 
promptly  got  himself  married  to  a  girl  in  his  own  town, 
which  was  probably,  on  the  whole,  the  most  defensible 
action  of  his  career.  They  went  on  a  wedding-trip  to 
New  York,  where  Starbuck  went  into  six  new  cor- 
porations ;  and  in  a  few  months  they  were  as  poor  as 
ever,  and  these  twin  children  were  born  to  them. 
Mrs.  Starbuck's  health  gave  out  after  this;  and  she 
never  had  any  more  children.  Her  husband's  business 
made  it  necessary  for  him  to  travel  a  great  deal ;  and 
she  sometimes  went  with  him,  sometimes  not.  Hard- 
ly a  commercial  hotel  in  the  United  States  but  Star- 
buck  had  stopped  there ;  he  made  his  nest  in  hotels, 
as  a  spider  does  in  dark  places  by  the  sea.  His  travels 
led  him  all  over  the  northern  part  of  America  and  to 
Australia;  his  assets  consisted  of  a  diamond-pin,  a 
gold  watch  and  chain,  and  four  collars  and  a  shirt,  be- 


A   Communist  and  His  Sister.        127 

* 

sides  the  clothes  he  wore ;  and  he  subsisted  mysteri- 
ously. At  one  time  he  had  considerable  reputation  in 
Ohio  and  Indiana  as  Dr.  Westminster,  the  cancer 
doctor ;  he  wore  his  hair  long,  and  had  his  portrait  so 
taken  printed  in  the  newspapers ;  his  treatment  con- 
sisted in  an  application  of  leaves  of  bracken  or  fern, 
steeped  in  hot  water,  and  business  prospered,  until  he 
foolishly  used  cabbage-leaves  instead,  and  a  patient 
died  of  the  blister.  He  made  some  money  by  curing 
stammering,  at  one  hundred  dollars  the  cure ;  if  the 
patients  did  not  pay  him,  he  threatened  suit,  and  they 
were  glad  to  get  rid  of  him  at  any  price.  At  times 
he  gave  temperance  lectures  (drinking  never  was  one 
of  his  vices);  and  if  worst  came  to  worst  he  could 
play  three-card-monte,  though  he  hated  to  resort  to 
this,  as  being  fairly  beyond  the  liberal  moral  line  he 
drew  for  himself.  He  never  had  any  permanent  oc- 
cupation ;  when  luck  ran  strong  against  him,  he 
would  return  to  the  little  Connecticut  town,  where 
his  wife  had  a  bit  of  real  estate  and  a  home  with  her 
brother,  old  Sam  Wolcott,  and  there  vegetate.  He 
honestly  and  in  good  faith  considered  himself  a  gentle- 
man ;  he  always  wore  a  black  coat,  and  once  came 
near  getting  a  Labor  nomination  for  Congress.  But 
the  workmen,  when  it  came  to  the  point,  would  none 
of  him  ;  though  he  did  occupy  a  seat  for  a  year  as  a 
Prohibitionist  in  the  Connecticut  Legislature.  He 
was  given  to  long  disappearances ;  and  at  the  time  of 
his  Australian  tour  it  really  seemed  to  his  wife  as  if  he 
were  never  coming  back.  However,  he  walked  in 
home,  one  day,  with  the  gold  watch  and  chain,  and 


128  First  Harvests. 

quite  a  little  sum  of  money;  and  did  not  finally  dis- 
appear until  that  time  in  the  Pennsylvania  mining- 
town,  whither  he  had  gone  to  buy  oil-land,  having  at 
last  persuaded  his  wife  to  sell  her  little  bit  of  real 
estate  in  Connecticut,  against  her  brother  Sam's 
advice.  All  this  James  Starbuck  did  not  know,  of 
course ;  but  in  a  general  way  he  did  not  accord  much 
respect  to  his  father's  memory.  He  considered  pride 
of  ancestry  a  most  disagreeable  form  of  aristocracy ; 
and  whereas  his  father  would  speak  of  himself  as  a 
gentleman,  James  Starbuck  boasted  openly  that  he 
was  nothing  but  a  plain  laboring-man.  James  was 
perfectly  honest  in  financial  affairs,  and  he  tried  to  look 
after  his  twin-sister.  Much  of  his  childhood  had  been 
spent  with  his  uncle  Sam;  and  his  earliest  recollec- 
tions were  of  that  little  district-school  the  reader  may 
remember.  For  uncle  Sam  belonged  to  the  salt  of  the 
earth,  good  old  Puritan  stock,  and  lived  to  be  the  last 
of  it,  the  day  he  hanged  himself,  and  the  Wolcott 
family  tomb  was  sealed. 

They  had  had  a  scene  to-night,  apropos  of  her  visit 
to  the  garden-concert.  She  had  gone  with  an  ornate 
and  expensive  person,  a  sporting  gentleman,  whose 
ostentatious  affluence  had  won  her  fancy;  and  whom 
James  detested.  She  called  him  one  of  her  "  gentle- 
man-friends ;"  and  they  had  angry  words  about  him, 
for  I  suspect,  after  all,  James  was  a  better  judge  of  a 
gentleman  than  his  father  had  been.  But  she  had  his 
own  cleverness  and  strength  of  will ;  and  it  was  diffi- 
cult for  James,  who  despised  all  authority  himself,  to 
exercise  it  upon  another.  Both  brother  and  aister 


A    Communist  and  His  Sister.        129 

were,  and  had  always  been,  absolutely  and  utterly 
devoid  of  any  semblance  or  savor  of  religion  ;  how 
absolutely,  only  those  who  have  lived  in  certain  classes 
of  society  in  modern  American  manufacturing  towns 
can  know  ;  and  there  was  a  large  range  of  motive  upon 
which  it  was  perfectly  hopeless  for  the  brother  to  call. 
He  knew  it,  and  he  was  too  bluntly  honest  not  to 
recognize  it ;  so  he  ended  merely  by  hoping  that  his 

sister  would  not  make  a  d d  fool  of  herself ;  which 

as  they  both  had  common-sense  and  practical  minds, 
was  perhaps  the  best  argument  he  could  use.  But 
Jenny,  perfectly  conscious  of  her  ability  to  take  care 
of  herself,  was  quite  well  aware  of  all  that  could  be 
said  on  both  sides ;  and  replied  that  if  Jim  chose  to 
smoke  pipes  in  his  shirt-sleeves  with  common  labor- 
ers, there  was  no  reason  why  his  sister  should  not 
accept  a  gentleman's  invitation  to  go  to  a  concert. 
An  English  navvy  might  have  stopped  her  going  with 
a  knock-down  argument ;  but  no  pure-blooded  Ameri- 
can ever  strikes  a  woman,  and  James  could  only 
swallow  his  wrath,  admitting  that  his  sister  was  a  free 
human  being  in  a  free  country,  and  if  she  preferred 
pleasure  and  he  power,  why  it  was  the  way  of  human- 
ity. He  was  conscious  that  his  own  aims  were  selfish 
enough,  and  though  he  dimly  felt  that  jewellery  and 
fashionable  hats  and  shawls  were  vanities,  it  was  hard 
to  put  that  idea  into  their  language.  For  he  believed 
in  labor  and  commodities ;  and  these,  at  least,  were 
commodities.  What  fault  he  found  was  in  their  dis- 
tribution alone  ;  and  his  sister  was  but  taking  her  way 
to  get  them  unto  herself.  But  to  see  her  aping  aris- 
9 


130  First  Harvests. 

tocracy  added  a  drop  to  the  hate  he  bore  that  bfre 
noire  of  his  class ;  though  surely  Dave  St.  Clair  was 
no  aristocrat,  as  he  had  to  admit.  Dave  St.  Clair  was 
the  gentleman  who  had  taken  his  sister  to  the  garden. 

What  was  it,  then,  that  made  him  hate  the  world  ? 
It  was  money,  accumulation,  capital,  as  he  had  learned 
to  call  the  word.  And  he  went  back  to  the  little 
coterie  in  the  back  room,  and  fervidly  resumed  his 
speech  where  his  sister's  departure  had  interrupted  it. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  he,  "  we  must  change  it  all.  A 
man  is  only  worth  what  he  makes.  They  tell  us  so- 
ciety would  be  a  chaos  without  private  property ;  I 
tell  them  it  is  private  property  that  makes  a  chaos  of 
society.  They  talk  about  the  law !  the  law  !  I  tell 
them  the  world  would  be  better  without  law.  It  is  a 
bogey,  invented  to  scare  off  us  ignorant  fellows  from 
the  plunder  the  rich  have  appropriated,  just  such  a 
bogey  as  religion  was,  only  religion  has  been  exploded. 
It  is  the  law's  turn  to  go  next.  All  property  is  rob- 
bery ;  and  it  is  only  because  land-owners  are  the  worst 
thieves  of  all,  that  we  feel  differently  about  other 
things.  The  earth  belongs  to  the  human  race ;  and 
no  man  can  rightly  own  its  surface,  whether  he  got  his 
title  from  a  feudal  baron  or  a  Spanish  general,  any 
more  than  he  can  own  the  air  of  heaven.  But  prop- 
erty in  other  things  is  just  as  bad  ;  and  Jay  Gould  is 
a  worse  man  than  the  Duke  of  Westminster,  though 
he  has  ten  million  acres  and  Gould  only  a  few  hun- 
dred. How  much  of  his  wealth  represents  the  hon- 
est labor  of  himself  or  his  forefathers  ?  " 

There  was  a  murmur  of  applause  at  this.     There 


A   Communist  and  His  Sisier.        131 

\vere  some  half  dozen  men  in  the  room,  all  sober  and 
apparently  intelligent,  and  all  natural-born  Americans. 

"  But  somebody  must  own  things,"  one  of  them  re- 
marked. "  Somebody  must  own  the  mills,  and  the 
railroads,  and  the  machinery.  Why  up  to  our  works 
we've  got  a  single  engine  that  cost  nigh  unto  eighty 
thousand  dollars." 

"  We  can  all  own  them,"  Starbuck  went  on  earnestly, 
"just  as  we  all  made  them.  Who  do  you  suppose  made 
that  eighty-thousand  dollar  machine — the  banks  with 
their  money  and  so-called  capital,  or  the  men  as  put 
it  together  ?  A  man  is  worth  just  what  he  makes,  I 
tell  you.  Can  Jay  Gould  make  an  engine  ?  But  be- 
cause we've  all  got  to  have  a  little  land,  and  a  little 
plant  and  money,  are  those  as  have  got  it  to  take 
away  from  us  ninety-nine  per  cent,  of  all  we  make  ? 
Yes — if  we're  fools  enougli  to  stand  it.  A  man  can 
have  what  he  can  keep  and  use,  what  he  can  eat  and 
what  he  can  wear.  If  he  chooses  to  store  up  his  day's 
labor,  to  set  aside  the  bread  and  meat  he  earns,  he 
can  do  so,  and  keep  it  till  it  spoils.  But  this  dog-in- 
the-manger  business  ain't  to  be  carried  no  further ; 
and  if  a  feller  squats  down  on  land,  and  don't  use  it, 
an'  another  feller  without  no  land  comes  along  and 
wants  it,  that  first  feller  has  got  to  get  up  and  git — 
that's  all.  A  man's  a  man  for  what  he  is,  for  what  he 
can  do — not  for  what  he  owns." 

"  But  who's  going  to  support  the  Government  ?  " 

"  Government,"  said  Starbuck,  with  a  snort  of  dis- 
gust, to  the  speaker,  who  was  something  of  a  ward 
politician.  "  Government !  We  'don't  want  no  gov- 


132  First  Harvests. 

ernment,  Bill.  What's  the  use  of  a  government,  ex- 
cept to  scrouge  out  taxes,  and  make  wars,  and  sup- 
port standing  armies  and  lazy  politicians  ? — To  pro- 
tect life,  liberty,  and  property,  they  say ;  property 
may  go  to  h — 1  for  all  I  care ;  and  I  guess  life  and 
liberty  can  take  care  of  themselves ;  they  aren't  much 
helped  by  government,  anyhow.  And  don't  you  sup- 
pose we  fellers  can  look  after  them  ?  And  our  own 
schools,  and  our  roads  and  things,  too,  each  town  and 
city  for  itself  ? '' 

The  man  addressed  as  Bill  paid  little  attention  to 
these  last  remarks,  but  was  talking  politics  with  his 
neighbor.  "  Vote  for  F this  year,"  he  was  say- 
ing ;  and  Starbuck  caught  the  end  of  his  sentence  as 
he  finished  his  own  remarks. 

"  Vote  !  "  he  interrupted,  with  infinite  contempt. 
"  Vote,  vote  again !  I  tell  you,  you're  only  doing 
yourselves  harm.  It  ain't  no  sort  of  use.  The  ballot- 
box  is  just  the  last  toy  the  bosses  have  got  up,  to 
keep  you  fellows  quiet.  Why,  all  this  machinery 
keeps  up  the  Government,  and  the  laws,  and  the 
property,  and  the  very  things  we've  got  to  fight 
against.  There's  that  patriotic  bosh,  and  the  talk 
about  national  honor,  and  the  German  wars  and  all 
— all  for  the  benefit  of  the  State,  and  the  bosses,  and 
the  existing  condition  of  things.  What  call  has  a 
Frenchy  to  go  and  cut  a  Dutchman's  throat — or  I  an 
Irishman's?  He's  my  mate,  just  as  the  next  fellow 
is.  I  say,  what  we've  got  to  do  is,  to  fight ;  but  not 
fight  each  other.  We've  got  to  fight  the  aristocrats, 
or  the  bosses,  or  the  capitalists  at  home.  I  tell  you 


A   Communist  and  His  Sister.        133 

these  bond-holder  fellows  are  all  over  the  world  ; 
they're  just  as  much  in  Egypt  or  in  Mexico  or  in 
Turkey  as  they  are  here  or  in  England.  We've  got 
to  make  a  clean  sweep,  that's  what  we've  got  to  do." 

"  By  God,  when  a  man  talks,  I  like  to  hear  him 
talk  like  a  man,"  said  another,  approvingly ;  and 
there  was  a  murmur  of  applause. 

"  But  what's  the  use  of  destroying  things  ?  "  said  a 
third,  of  a  sparing  turn  of  mind. 

"  Destroying  things  !  that's  the  d dest  bugbear 

of  all,"  cried  Starbuck.  "  Do  you  know,  if  every- 
thing in  the  world  was  destroyed  to-morrow,  we 
fellows  could  put  it  all  back  in  two  years  ?  Aye,  and 
less,  if  we  worked  with  a  will.  I  tell  you,  we've  got 
to  make  a  clean  sweep,  first  of  all ;  and  when  we 
build  'em  up  again,  we'll  build  for  ourselves  this  time 
— and  don't  you  forget  it,''  he  added,  by  way  of 
climax. 

"  Well,  you  talk  pretty  fine  for  a  young  fellow," 
answered  one  of  the  older  men  ;  and  the  party  got  up 
and  exchanging  a  rough  good-night,  separated.  Star- 
buck  sat  a  long  time  with  his  chin  on  his  hand,  pull- 
ing at  the  embers  of  his  pipe.  Late  at  night  the  door 
opened  and  his  sister  returned ;  he  heard  a  short 
colloquy  at  the  door,  and  then  she  entered  alone,  with 
a  flush  upon  her  handsome  face.  She  had  the  rude, 
frank  bearing  and  the  pitiless  smile  which  belong  to 
the  type  who  take  life's  pleasures  without  much  regard 
to  its  pains  or  the  pains  of  others  ;  and  the  strong, 
full  curve  of  the  merry  lip  grows  harder  with  age, 
with  less  of  merriment  and  more  of  malice.  But, 


134  First  Harvests. 

withal,  such  a  woman  as  no  man  could  ever  rule ; 
and  James  felt  it  vaguely,  as  he  sat  and  looked  at 
her. 

"  A  pretty  time  for  you  to  be  in  o'  nights,"  said  he ; 
and  the  girl  laughed  loudly ;  and  putting  off  her  hat 
and  shawl  upon  a  chair,  went  to  a  little  mirror  and 
stood  before  it,  touching  her  hair  with  her  fingers. 
Now,  a  laugh  and  then  silence  was  perhaps  of  all 
things  the  most  exasperating  to  James  Starbuck. 

"  Who  was  that  brought  you  home  ? "  said  he, 
rudely. 

"  I  don't  know  what  call  you've  got  to  ask  me 
that,"  said  she.  "  I  go  with  what  gentlemen  I 
choose;  I  don't  interfere  with  you  sticking  to  your 
workmen,  do  I  ?  Phew  !  how  it  smells  of  pipes  ;  " 
and  Jenny  ostentatiously  rattled  open  the  light  win- 
dows. 

"Well,  its  just  here;  I  can't  have  you  going  round 
this  sort  of  way,  that's  all,"  and  James  banged  his 
white  fist  upon  the  table.  The  girl  only  laughed, 
more  contemptuously  and  less  merrily  than  before, 
and  the  brother  grew  furious. 

"  I  can't  have  it — d'ye  hear  ?  " 

"  Mind  your  own  business,"  said  the  sister,  "  and 
don't  talk  nonsense.  I  suppose  you'd  have  me  sit  here 
in  the  back  room  and  be  a  poor  sempstress  all  my 
life.  You  like  your  lectures  and  your  laborers'  clubs, 
and  your  political  power  that  you're  all  the  time  talk- 
ing about — and  I  like  to  have  a  good  time,  and  go 
out  in  society.  We're  quits.  What  have  you  got  to 
say  against  it  ?" 


A   Communist  and  His  Sister.        135 

"  It — it  ain't  right,"  said  James,  weakly. 

"  Oh,  ain't  it  ?  Well — I  like  it,  then.  I  suppose 
you  never  do  but  what's  right,  of  course.  You're  all 
the  time  complaining  we  don't  get  enough  of  the  good 
things  of  this  world — I  guess  you'd  get  'em  yourself, 
if  you  could,  anyhow.  And  I  can."  And  Jennie 
pulled  off  a  very  pretty  little  glove  and  showed  a  sin- 
gle diamond  ring,  which  flashed  bravely  in  the  lamp- 
light. "  You  go  ahead  your  way,  an'  I'll  go  mine ; 
an'  I  guess  we'll  both  get  what  we  can." 

James  was  honest  enough  in  his  philosophy,  and 
really  without  direct  personal  ends ;  and  the  last 
words  goaded  him  to  madness. 

"  Yes,  an'  I  guess  you  went  your  own  way  up  to 
Allegheny  City  a  little  too  much,"  said  he.  "  Where's 
Charley  Thurston  now  ?  "  (This  Charley  Thurston 
was  an  old  friend  of  Starbuck's,  to  whom  his  sister 
had  been  once  reported  engaged.) 

"  I  left  Charley  Thurston  of  my  own  free  will,  be- 
cause I  wanted  to  live  in  New  York,"  screamed  the 
girl,  really  angry  at  last.  "  Look  here,  Jim  Starbuck 
— I've  had  about  enough  of  you  anyhow.  You  can't 
give  me  the  position  in  life  I  require ;  and  I've  had 
more'n  enough  of  your  talk.  This  house  is  mine ; 
and  I  paid  for  it,  and  for  every  dress  I've  got  to  my 
back — yes — and  for  this  ring,  too,"  she  added,  notic- 
ing her  brother's  glance.  "  You  just  go,  do  you  hear? 
Clear  out —  And  the  girl  tore  her  brother's  coat 

from  the  nail  and  threw  it  into  his  lap. 

"  You  don't  mean  that,"  said  James. 

"  Yes,  I  do — I'm  sick  of  you  and  all  your  low  ac- 


136  First  Harvests. 

quaintances.  I  suppose  you  want  me  to  pay  for  your 
lodging,  do  you  ?  " 

James  got  up,  wearily.  They  had  had  many  such  a 
dispute  before  ;  but,  with  his  feeble  health  and  physi- 
cal condition  he  had  never  managed  to  keep  his  tem- 
per so  long  as  now. 

"  You'll  be  sorry  for  this,  Jennie,"  was  all  he  said. 
"  You  know  where  to  find  me."  And  he  went  out, 
and  the  front  door  closed  behind  him. 

Left  alone,  the  beauty  rubbed  her  forehead  impa- 
tiently, and  pouted  fora  few  minutes.  Then  she  took 
out  a  small  case  of  crimson  velvet  from  her  pocket 
and  opened  it ;  it  was  a  framed  and  highly  colored 
photograph  of  herself,  on  porcelain,  and  set  in  gilt, 
with  small  jewels  inlaid  in  the  frame.  As  she  looked 
upon  it,  her  mouth  unbent  at  the  corners,  her  lips 
came  back  to  their  usual  roguish,  fascinating  curves. 
She  laid  aside  her  dress,  and  robed  in  a  splendid  pink- 
and-lilac  neglig6,  unbound  her  hair  and  sat  for  a  long 
time  before  the  glass,  looking  from  it  to  the  miniature 
and  back  again  to  the  original.  Then  she  took  out  a 
letter  and  read  its  contents,  still  smiling. 

And  then,  for  the  first  time  that  evening,  you 
might  have  seen  a  resemblance — to  what  ?  Why,  for 
all  the  world — as  she  sat  with  her  yellow  hair  falling 
on  her  full  neck,  with  the  contented,  infantine  smile, 
and  the  fashionably  cut  robe-de-chambre — for  all  the 
world,  like  Mrs.  Flossie  Gower. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

UNA  AND   THE   LION. 

OHN  HAVILAND  was  a  banker  down 
town,  a  man  of  much  business  and  of  few 
intimate  friends.  He  was  over  thirty  at 
this  time,  and  made  no  sign  of  getting  mar- 
ried ;  which  was  the  stranger,  as  his  health  was  good, 
his  wealth  sufficient,  and  he  cared  less  for  the  pleas- 
ures of  life  than  for  its  happiness.  He  had  no  broth- 
ers nor  sisters  ;  his  mother  was  a  widow  and  he  lived 
with  her.  Flossie  said  it  was  hard  to  get  interested 
in  such  people  as  John  Haviland. 

Every  afternoon  at  four  he  left  his  office  and  went 
on  a  long  and  solitary  walk  ;  thus  his  days  were  of  a 
piece  with  his  life.  He  never  chose  the  conventional 
promenades  :  and  through  the  outlying  districts,  the 
river  villages,  the  Bowery,  the  forgotten  little  parks 
and  green  places  ;  by  Riverside  and  Morningside ; 
through  the  mysterious  Greenwich  settlement,  as  well 
as  Central  Park,  Morrisania,  and  Fort  Washington; 
in  any  sort  of  weather — sleet,  snow,  rain,  or  freeze — 
you  might  have  met  the  man,  striding  along  like  a 
well-oiled  engine,  observant  of  everything,  from  the 
street  urchins  to  the  signs  in  the  shop-windows. 
This  at  an  hour  of  day  when  he  might  have  gone  to 


138*  First  Harvests. 

teas ;  wherefore  people  said  he  had  never  been  in 
love.  Which  is  a  rash  predication  of  your  chimney- 
sweeper, but  happened  to  be  true  of  Haviland. 

One  day  his  wandering  took  a  direction  beyond 
Washington  Square.  This  most  characteristic  of  all 
New  York  squares  lies  bounded  on  the  north  by 
Belgravia,  on  the  west  by  Bohemia,  on  the  east  by 
Business,  and  on  the  south  by  Crime.  West  of  it 
are  rich  districts  of  individuality,  where  the  bedrock 
of  shabby  gentility  develops  occasional  lodes  and 
pockets  for  the  student  of  humanity.  It  is  a  place 
where  the  deserving  and  the  undeserving  poor  are 
huddled  together,  both  of  them  inefficient,  but  neither 
wicked ;  and  where  all  the  inhabitants  make  some 
sort  of  incoherent  struggle  against  the  facts  of  life, 
and  either,  on  the  one  hand,  emulate  respectability, 
or,  on  the  other,  excuse  themselves  with  the  divine 
license  to  vagabondage  given  by  Art. 

In  one  of  the  southernmost  and  more  dubious  of 
these  streets,  Haviland,  steaming  along  with  his  mind 
on  everything  and  a  watch  on  deck — for  he  was  no 
introspective  Hamlet — noticed  a  group  of  hulking 
fellows  ahead  of  him.  They  were  the  sort  of  persons 
that  have  no  obvious  function  in  the  divine  economy ; 
persons  whose  principal  end  seems  to  be  to  get 
knocked  on  the  head  with  clubs  in  street  riots,  there- 
by dying,  at  least,  with  some  poetic  justice.  Havi- 
land would  not  have  ordinarily  noticed  them ;  but  he 
was  struck  by  their  unwonted  rapidity  of  motion,  and 
looking,  he  saw  that  they  were  following  something ; 
that  something  being  a  graceful  female  figure,  dressed 


Una  and  the  Lion.  139 

in  black.  John  Haviland  swung  promptly  into  line 
behind  them ;  and  gaining  more  rapidly  upon  them 
than  they  upon  the  lady,  he  sauntered  innocently  be- 
tween two  of  them  when  she  was  still  a  few  dozen 
yards  in  front  of  them.  He  glanced  casually  at  them 
as  he  passed ;  they  slunk  away  like  beaten  dogs,  and 
melted,  in  divers  directions,  from  sight. 

In  a  moment  more  they  had  reached  a  broader 
street ;  and  John  was  on  the  point  of  diverging  his 
course  again  from  that  of  his  protegee,  when,  looking 
at  her,  he  hesitated  a  second,  and  then  walked  rapid- 
ly up  to  her. 

"  Miss  Holyoke  ?"  said  he,  raising  his  hat  and  with 
an  unavoidable  shade  of  surprise  in  his  tone. 

"  Mr.  Haviland  ?  you  down  here  too  ?  Or  per- 
haps you  come  on  the  same  errand  ?  "  And  Gracie 
smiled  frankly,  as  John  looked  up,  puzzled,  into  her 
lovely  face.  "  I  am  visiting  some  poor  families,  you 
know — for  the  Combined  Charities " 

"  But  surely,"  he  broke  in,  "  you  ought  not  to  be 
down  here  alone,  Miss  Holyoke  ? "  They  were  at 
Sixth  Avenue  by  this  time  ;  and  Gracie  was  looking 
for  a  car. 

"  Usually  my  aunt  lets  me  have  the  carriage,"  said 
Gracie ;  "  but  Miss  Livingstone  needed  it  to-day. 
And  I  don't  like  to  drive  quite  up  to  the  doors,  even 
then.  It  seems  so  hard  to  drive  up  with  one's  own 
carriage  and  horses,  and  then  have  to  refuse  them 
everything  but  a  little  work,"  she  added,  smiling. 
"  And  Miss  Brevier  often  goes  Avith  me." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  come  here  often  ?  "  asked 


140  First  Harvests. 

John  ;  and  she  told  him  that  she  and  Miss  Brevier 
had  each  "  taken "  the  people  on  one  street ;  and 
were  seeing  that  they  got  help  when  help  was  neces- 
sary, and  that  the  undeserving  had  none  wasted  upon 
them.  John  put  her  safely  in  the  car,  and  resumed 
his  pedestrian  voyage  with  something  new  to  think 
of.  This  personal  visiting  by  refined  young  ladies 
was  doubtless  an  excellent  thing  on  its  poetic  side ; 
but  it  could  not  but  seem  to  him  that  the  danger  and 
the  exposure  were  out  of  proportion  to  the  benefit. 
He  had  had  much  experience  among  the  city  poor, 
and  was  perhaps  a  little  skeptical  as  to  the  advan- 
tages to  be  gained  by  such  devotion.  For,  as  is  the 
way  of  things  so  often  here  below,  the  selfish,  the 
fraudulent,  the  undeserving,  find  it  easy  to  advertise 
themselves  and  solicit  help  ;  while  the  saddest  cases 
of  all  are  lost  in  some  modest  garret ;  there  they  suf- 
fer unseen,  ashamed  to  cry  for  charity,  and  wear 
their  lives  out  silently.  Except  this  latter  class,  and 
cases  of  long  illness,  most  of  the  poor  in  New  York 
are  poor  from  laziness,  intemperance,  or  crime  ;  and 
their  moral  attitude  towards  society  is  rather  that  of 
sullen  and  callous  defiance,  or  covetous  acquiescence, 
than  repentance.  We  need  to  get  a  better  breed  of 
men,  not  coddle  the  present  one  overmuch.  Life 
suits  them  well  enough  as  it  is,  if  they  could  only  get 
a  few  of  their  neighbors'  goods ;  such  goods  as  they 
desire  and  Mrs.  Flossie  desired,  and  not  the  summum 
bonum.  If  degraded,  they  do  not  mind  their  degra- 
dation, but  are  content  with  it ;  money  always,  cloth- 
ing and  food  sometimes,  they  will  derisively  accept ; 


Una  and  the  Lion.  141 

but  work  they  will  evade  and  not  perform.  Amongst 
these,  thought  Haviland,  there  may  be  much  squalor, 
even  much  suffering;  but  there  is  little  real  poverty. 
Had  he  told  all  this  to  Gracie  she  would  have  said 
that  it  made  no  difference  ;  and  that  one  should  try 
all  the  more  to  find  the  true  cases,  where  righteous- 
minded  beings  were  sinking  in  the  turmoil  of  the 
world  ;  and  that  one  such  family  helped  and  saved 
was  worth  a  hundred  of  impostures.  Moreover, 
Gracie  had  not  a  man's  fear  of  being  taken  in  ;  had 
she  thought  of  it  at  all,  she  would  have  scorned  it ; 
the  odium  of  deception  falls  on  the  deceiver,  not  the 
deceived  ;  she  would  not  stoop  to  be  suspicious.  And 
mercy  will  ever  be  a  mystery  to  mere  justice  :  like  the 
ways  of  God  to  human  intellect. 

Meantime  Haviland  was  walking  along,  lost  in 
thought.  He  wandered  mechanically  through  vari- 
ous unknown  and  afterward  unremembered  districts, 
by  a  strange  old  graveyard  yet  undesecrated,  through 
Leroy  Street,  and  Sixth  Avenue,  until  his  time  was 
up  ;  then  he  went  home  and  dined,  with  his  mother. 
In  the  evening  he  had  his  ward  club  meeting ;  this 
was  a  thing  in  which  he  took  great  interest,  and  he 
went  as  a  matter  of  course.  It  was  not  an  easy  thing, 
at  this  time,  to  be  admitted  to  the  councils  that  rule 
in  the  free  city  of  New  York.  And,  as  we  have  spent 
some  time  over  pretty  Flossie  Gower,  that  flower  of 
republican  society,  it  may  not  be  wasted  time  to  see 
a  little  what  thing  this  political  club  was,  which  may 
stand,  in  a  sense,  for  its  root. 

If  New  England,  with  its  offshoots  on  the  Western 


142  First  Harvests. 

Reserve  and  elsewhere,  is  the  result  of  an  attempt  to 
obtain-  religious  freedom,  our  whole  country,  in  a 
still  larger  sense,  is  the  result  of  an  attempt  to  obtain 
political  liberty.  Our  national  faith  has  been  that 
which  is,  of  all  possible  faiths,  the  farthest  from  that  of 
poor  James  Starbuck ;  it  is  government  by  every  one, 
while  nihilism  is  the  negation  of  any  government  at 
all ;  moreover  it  is  individualism,  as  opposed  to  social- 
ism. But  in  New  York  there  has  grown  to  be  a  class 
who,  as  others  could  give  no  time  to  government, 
sought  to  make  up  for  it  by  giving  all  of  theirs.  For 
what  proportion  is  there  between  the  time  of  a  busy 
merchant  or  physician,  and  that  of  a  professional  idler  ? 
And  the  interminable  and  vain  caucuses,  impossible 
to  the  one,  form  the  delight  of  the  other.  These  had 
leisure  to  make  acquaintances  ;  to  know  each  other ; 
to  pass  their  days  in  bar-rooms,  nurseries  of  political 
power ;  and  long  ere  this,  they  had  arrogated  to 
themselves  an  effective  oligarchy.  Theirs  to  make 
nominations  and  to  mar  candidates'  careers ;  and  the 
people,  high-placed  or  low,  had  no  right  in  their  au- 
gust councils  save  on  sufferance.  Thus  we  dropped 
aristocracy,  and  got  a  kakistocracy ;  but  an  oligarchy 
still. 

John  Haviland,  however,  had  been  admitted.  He 
had  had  to  struggle  hard  for  this  honor ;  and  had 
finally  attained  it  much  more  by  his  physical  prow- 
ess than  by  his  intellectual. qualifications.  Near  his 
house  were  the  rooms  of  a  well-known  "professor  in 
the  art  of  self-defence  ;  "  and  there  he  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  taking  lessons,  and  occasionally  "  putting  on 


Una  and  the  Lion.  143 

the  gloves  "  with  all  comers.  Among  the  frequenters 
of  the  place  were  also  many  of  the  local  magnates  of 
the  party ;  and  Haviland,  whose  manners  were  frank 
and  hearty,  had  thus  met  most  of  his  ward  leaders, 
and  knocked  the  greater  part  of  them  down  succes- 
sively. Thus  treated,  they  took  a  fancy  to  him  ;  said 
that  there  was  no  nonsense  about  him  ;  and  one  day, 
to  Haviland's  great  surprise,  informed  him  that  he 
had  been  elected  a  member  of  their  local  club. 

The  meeting  to-night  was  not  over-interesting.  It 
might  have  been  called  less  incendiary,  but  it  was  cer- 
tainly more  selfish  than  Mr.  James  Starbuck's,  we  have 
so  lately  left ;  while  for  earnestness  and  a  definite 
attempt  at  effecting  something,  the  two  were  not  for 
one  moment  to  be  compared.  For  whereas  the  offi- 
cial political  organization  of  the  great  national  party 
in  Haviland's  ward  was  occupied  primarily  with  sat- 
isfactory apportionments  of  the  offices  among  the 
would-be  candidates,  and  secondarily  with  beating  the 
rival  party  at  the  polls,  Starbuck's  people  went  in 
much  more  directly  for  measures  than  for  men,  and  as 
for  offices,  desired  none  at  all. 

Haviland  found  it  hard  to  keep  his  attention,  that 
evening,  on  the  subject  before  the  meeting.  Tom  was 
saying  what  a  good  fellow  was  William,  and  how  the 
machinations  of  Richard  might  be  defeated  if  Patrick 
were  only  secured,  which  might  be  done  if  Michael 
were  given  a  local  judgeship.  It  was  pretty  unsatis- 
factory talk  at  the  best,  and  hardly  can  have  been  what 
the  makers  of  the  Constitution,  or  even  what  Mon- 
sieur Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  intended.  Haviland 


144  First  Harvests. 

had  often  stood  up  against  it,  alone ;  but  that  night 
he  gave  little  ear  to  it,  and  things  went  their  own  way. 

From  this  meeting  he  went  to  the  Farnums'.  He 
was  a  familiar  in  the  house,  and  could  call  late,  if  he 
chose.  Mrs.  Farnum  had  disappeared  ;  Mr.  Farnum 
was  rarely  visible  ;  but  sitting  in  the  front  room  alone, 
with  a  sweeping  robe  of  pale-gray  velvet  across  the 
floor,  and  head  and  arm  leaning  on  a  low  chair,  a  book 
discarded  lying  face  downward  on  the  floor,  he  found 
the  beauty.  A  moment  before  he  entered,  her  eyes 
(purple-gray  they  were  in  color)  had  had  a  strange 
look,  both  proud  and  longing,  both  weary  and  fierce. 
This  was  peculiar  to  them ;  but  it  softened  a  shade  as 
he  entered,  and  she  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Mr.  Haviland  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Yes — I  came  to  see  you  because " 

"  Because  you  had  nothing  better  to  do,"  said  she, 
tersely. 

"  If  you  will,"  said  John,  smiling.  "  Though  it  is 
not  kind." 

"  The  world  is  not  kind,"  said  the  beauty,  with  a 
frown,  looking  off  again. 

"  For  the  world  you  are  not  responsible,"  said  Havi- 
land gravely.  "Tell  me,  do  you  know  Miss  Holy- 
oke  ?  " 

"  Miss  Holyoke  ?     What  Miss  Holyoke  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Richard  Livingstone's  niece." 

"  No,"  said  Kitty  Farnum,  curtly.  "  I  don't  know 
Mrs.  Livingstone." 

"  But  I  thought  you  might  have  met  Miss  Holyoke. 
Do  you  not  belong  to  the  Combined  Charities  ?  " 


Una  and  the  Lion.  145 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  I  wish  you  did,"  said  John,  half  to  himself.  "  I 
thought  you  and  Miss  Holyoke  might — might  find  it 
pleasant  to  go  together." 

"  I  have  no  interest  in  them,"  said  Miss  Farnum,  as 
if  finally.  And  she  looked  as  if  she  thought  the  world 
too  intolerable  to  herself  to  dream  of  trying  to  miti- 
gate it  for  others.  • 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Haviland ;  and  the  talk  drifted 
off  into  commonplaces.  But  Miss  Farnum's  manners 
were  not  lenient,  and  his  call  was  a  short  one. 

Haviland  continued  to  take  his  afternoon  walks; 
but  he  was  now  more  than  ever  apt  to  lose  himself  in 
the  district  west  of  Washington  Square.  Gracie  never 
came  to  any  trouble,  all  that  winter,  on  her  charitable 
excursions  ;  but,  if  you  had  ever  met  her  there  alone, 
you  would  have  very  likely  met,  just  far  enough  be- 
hind her,  so  that  she  never  saw  him,  steaming  along 
in  his  usual  wholesome  way,  our  friend  John  Havi- 
land. 

10 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS. 

(RTHUR  HOLYOKE  was  making  his 
way.  Despite  Charlie's  admonitions  to 
the  contrary,  he  had  succeeded  in  living 
within  his  income ;  and,  after  a  six 
months'  trial  at  the  office,  the  firm  put  him  upon  a 
salary.  It  was  small,  to  be  sure ;  but  it  was  a  dis- 
tinct step  toward  the  home  that  he  was  hoping  to 
build.  He  had  joined  one  club,  recognizing  that  after 
the  initiation  the  expense  was  trifling ;  and  that 
he  must  be  put  in  a  way  to  meet  men.  Here  he 
spent  much  of  his  time ;  bachelor  lodgings  are  cheer- 
less. 

Business  was,  on  the  whole,  a  disillusion.  The  firm 
of  Townley  &  Tamms  had  formerly  carried  large 
banking  and  investment  accounts;  but  these  had  not 
increased  of  late  years ;  and  it  gradually  became  evi- 
dent to  Arthur  that  all  this  legitimate  business  would 
hardly  pay  their  office  expenses.  Where  they  really 
made  their  money  was  either  in  buying  large  blocks 
of  securities  at  less  than  their  value,  or,  more  com- 
monly, in  selling  new  issues,  after  a  long  course  of  ar- 
tificial demand  and  advertisement,  at  very  much  more 
than  they  had  ever  paid  for  them.  Tamms  was  the 


A  Social  Success.  147 

light  and  soul  of  the  firm.  He  never  went  up  town 
into  society  ;  he  never  sought  to  shine  in  the  fashion- 
able world,  and  pretended  that  he  did  not  want  to. 
His  largest  social  orbit  did  not  transcend  the  society 
of  the  Brooklyn  church  to  which  he  belonged ;  in  the 
city  of  churches  he  lived  and  had  his  being ;  and  he 
was  in  all  respects  a  most  reputable  citizen.  Old  Mr. 
Townley  might  come  down  at  eleven  or  at  nine ;  Ar- 
thur might  leave  at  three  or  at  five ;  "but  they  always 
met  Tamms  at  the  office,  or  left  him  there,  curled  up 
over  his  private  desk,  silent,  in  his  formal  black  coat, 
with  his  restless  eyes  shining  like  a  spider's ;  and  he 
seemed  to  have  a  spider's  capacity  for  living  without 
fresh  air  and  exercise.  The  deacons  entrusted  to  him 
the  church  funds,  and  even,  occasionally,  made  a  long 
or  short  sale  of  stocks,  on  private  account,  at  his  ad- 
vice ;  for  Tamms,  even  by  these  aspirants  for  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,  was  reputed  a  man  of  remarkable 
business  sagacity  on  earth.  And  in  these  days,  when 
even  the  church  must  have  its  secular  foundation  and 
its  corner  lots,  the  laying  up  of  treasure  on  earth  is 
not  to  be  avoided ;  what  we  need,  therefore,  is  some 
really  sure  preventive  of  moth  and  rust,  and  some 
wholly  efficacious  precaution  against  those  thieves 
that  break  in  and  steal.  Although  there  is,  I  believe, 
no  text  telling  us  that  thieves  need  be  always  with 
us. 

But  the  tendency  of  the  times  is  toward  a  fiercer 
battle  in  the  struggle  for  existence,  and  weaker  laws 
to  keep  the  rapacious  in  check.  Of  the  ever  smaller 
surplus  that  the  world's  work  wins,  a  larger  share  is 


148  First  Harvests. 

every  year  being  demanded  by  the  laborer,  and  aggre- 
gated capital,  organized  monopoly,  growing  hungrier 
as  it  has  to  take  less,  thirsts  each  year  more  greedily 
for  all  that  is  left.  And  the  middle  class, , which  has 
ruled  the  world  so  long,  is  being  ground  to  pieces  by 
these  warring  Titans. 

Tamms  perceived  this,  not  so  dithyrambically,  but 
more  practically,  and  he  profited  by  it.  No  one  could 
turn  in  and  out  of  corporations  more  cleverly  than 
he ;  or  turn  them  more  adroitly  to  private  ends,  or 
drop  out  of  them  more  apropos.  Such  an  ingenious 
contrivance  for  clever  men  are  these  ;  more  ingenious 
than  the  law  which  governs  them.  Indeed,  the  law 
has  now  dropped  far  behind,  standing  where  it  stood 
in  the  Middle  Ages,  when  corporations  were  few  and 
simple,  and  it  stares  agape  at  the  Frankensteins  of  its 
own  creation.  But  these  same  soulless  monsters  af- 
ford to  their  masters  unlimited  power,  without  inter- 
est or  responsibility ;  and  Tamms  revelled  in  them. 
And  Tamms  was  a  self-made  man,  and  a  smart  one  ; 
and  the  public  deified  him  for  both  attributes,  as  is 
its  wont ;  and  his  church  would  have  canonized  him, 
had  his  business  needed  a  saintship  instead  of  a  seat 
in  the  Stock-Exchange. 

Arthur's  head  grew  dizzy  at  the  corporations,  and 
syndicates,  and  pools  and  other  unnamed  enterprises 
that  Tamms's  busy  life  was  wound  up  in.  Head  and 
chief  was,  of  course,  the  great  Allegheny  Central 
Railroad ;  this  was  the  chief  gold-mine  that  they 
worked  ;  for  in  it  Tamms  could  make  his  own  mar- 
ket and  buy  and  sell  at  his  own  price.  But  there 


A  Social  Success.  149 

were  many  others.  And  of  these,  the  stock  of  the 
Silas  Starbuck  Oil  Company  had  grown  lately  promi- 
nent. 

The  Stock- Exchange  was  no  longer  a  strange  sight 
to  Arthur ;  he  had  grown  familiar  with  it,  with  its 
moods,  its  dialect,  its  very  battle-cries  and  interjec- 
tions. And  here  he  had  seen  the  Allegheny  Central 
bought  and  sold,  and  bought  again ;  and  of  late  he 
had  been  sent  to  out-of-the-way  holes  and  corners, 
auctions,  and  even  to  the  up-town  houses  of  retired 
merchants  (Mrs.  Gower's  among  the  number,  only 
Mrs.  Gower  would  not  sell)  in  search  of  the  share 
certificates  of  the  Starbuck  Oil. 

"  Governor's  up  to  something,"  said  Charlie. 
"  Don't  believe  anybody  knows  what — not  even  the 
old  man."  The  "  governor  "  was  Mr.  Tamms  ;  Mr. 
Townley  was  the  "  old  man."  And  it  was  true  the 
latter  had  little  to  do  with  the  business  of  the  firm. 
He  had  been  a  conservative,  prominent  banker  in  his 
day ;  and  still  carried  much  weight  with  the  multi- 
tude ;  but,  though  he  bore  his  gray  head  with  much 
dignity  behind  his  white  choker,  there  was  little  in  it 
—as  Townley  might  have  said.  Little  remained  of 
the  once  active  spirit  behind  it  but  a  fixed  belief  in 
Allegheny  Central  and  a  strong  taste  for  landscape 
paintings  of  the  French  school.  However,  no  one 
had  found  this  out  but  Tamms,  not  even  Mr.  Townley 
himself,  though  Charlie,  as  we  have  seen,  suspected 
it.  And  Mr.  Townley  was  a  merchant  of  the  old 
school,  whom  all  the  world  delighted  to  make  trustee 
for  its  posterity.  He  had  a  great  box  in  the  Safety 


150  First  Harvests. 

Deposit  Vaults,  crammed  with  the  stocks  and  bonds 
upon  which  others  lived  ;  and  these  he  administered 
carefully  and  well. 

But  one  great  day  there  was  a  "  corner  "  in  Star- 
buck  Oil  stock  ;  for  some  mysterious  reason  the  once 
common  certificates  had  disappeared,  like  partridges 
on  the  first  of  September.  Madder  and  more  extrav- 
agant grew  the  demand  for  it  at  the  board ;  scantier 
still  the  supply  offering ;  one  per  cent,  a  day  was  bid, 
even  for  its  temporary  possession,  so  highly  were  the 
shares  suddenly  prized.  There  were  vague  rumors  of 
"  plums,"  "  melons,"  and  consolidations  ;  meantime 
the  Starbuck  Oil  stock  had  disappeared  from  human 
vision.  Then,  one  morning,  came  the  news  ;  the  Al- 
legheny Central  had  absorbed  the  Silas  Starbuck  Oil 
Company ;  two  shares  were  to  be  given  for  one,  and 
in  addition,  to  cover  terminal  facilities,  connection, 
etc.,  five  millions  of  six  per  cent,  bonds  were  to  be  is- 
sued. Townley  &  Tamms,  it  was  announced,  had 
taken  them  all,  and  offered  them  to  the  eager  public 
for  105  and  interest.  "  Thought  the  governor  was 
up  to  something,"  said  Charlie.  "  What  do  you  sup- 
pose we  paid  for  them  ? — the  bonds,  I  mean,"  said  he 
to  Arthur ;  and  he  put  his  tongue  in  his  cheek  and 
looked  very  knowing. 

Arthur  was  kept  busy,  writing  personal  letters  to 
the  more  valued  clients  of  the  firm,  calling  attention 
to  the  merits  of  the  bonds  in  question  ;  and  preferred 
not  thinking  of  the  matter  at  all.  He  solaced  him- 
self with  human  sympathy;  that  is  to  say,  the  de- 
lights of  society  as  offered  in  balls  and  dinners ;  and 


A  Social  Success.  151 

soon  grew  so  accustomed  to  the  stimulant  as  to  take 
much  pleasure  in  it. 

For  do  we  not  see  every  day,  gentle  reader — that  is 
to  say,  fashionable,  fascinating,  admired  reader — how 
great  and  potent  is  the  charm  of  this  life  ?  Do  we 
not  see  men  ruining  themselves,  girls  giving  them- 
selves, for  this  alone  ?  How  dull,  how  short-sighted 
must  our  forefathers  have  been,  who  flattered  them- 
selves that  we,  their  clever  children,  would  content 
ourselves  with  the  rights  of  man  !  What  we  desire  is 
the  envy  of  mankind. 

Humanity  has  indeed  labored  over  a  thousand 
years  for  these  simpler  things,  ever  since  that  crowd 
of  uncultivated  Dutchmen  came  down  on  Rome,  and 
the  feudal  system  adopted  Christianity  unto  itself  and 
strangled  it,  or  sought  to  do  so.  We  have  tried  with 
brain  and  sinew,  through  blood  and  fire,  to  get  this 
boon,  that  our  lives  may  be  respected,  and  our  liberty 
of  person  not  constrained.  And  now,  in  the  nine- 
teenth century,  we  have  got  it ;  and  lo !  society  is 
bored.  Languid  and  dull — too  dull  to  hear,  in  its  lib- 
eral mass,  that  low  and  distant  murmur,  too  skeptical, 
indifferent,  to  see  the  dark  low  cloud,  just  forming, 
now,  to  the  West  and  East — is  it  a  mighty  swarm  of 
locusts,  or  is  it  merely  storm  and  rain  ?  Here  and 
there  a  tory  sees  it,  dreading  it ;  here  and  there  a  rad- 
ical, dreaming  of  it ;  their  imagination  aiding  both. 
And  the  multitude,  who  are  not  indifferent,  and  who 
are  never  bored,  have  little  time  to  look  at  the  weath- 
er, still  less  to  read  and  think  ;  or,  if  they  read,  it  is 
no  longer  now  the  Bible,  which,  they  are  told,  is  but 


152  First  Harvests. 

a  feudal  book,  a  handy  tool  of  bishops  and  of  premi- 
ers. Moreover,  modern  enlightenment  teaches  that  it 
is  a  lie ;  there  never  were  twelve  basketfuls  of  frag- 
ments left  from  loaves  and  fishes  on  the  Mountain ; 
therefore  what  words  were  spoken  on  the  Mountain 
cannot  be  true. 

The  world  is  free;  and  ninety-nine  per  cent,  are 
miserable,  and  the  other  one  is  bored.  So,  we  re- 
member, Flossie  Gower  was  bored,  when  she  got  all 
her  wishes,  and  had  liberty  to  do  what  thing  she  chose. 
But  surely,  liberty  being  the  greatest  good,  it  follows 
she  must  choose  to  do  good  things  ?  But  to-day  the 
light  of  the  sun  does  not  content  us,  nor  the  fragrance 
of  the  woods  and  fields,  the  breath  of  free  air  and  the 
play  of  mind  and  body,  love  and  friendship,  and  health 
and  sympathy.  These  are  but  the  tasteless  water  of 
life;  the  joys  of  possession  and  of  envy  are  the  wine. 
The  early  pagans  were  happy  with  these  indeed,  be- 
nighted creatures ;  but  what  though  the  ancient  text 
says,  What  does  it  profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the  whole 
world,  and  lose  his  own  soul  ?  Others  will  envy  us 
the  world ;  but  our  own  souls  pall  with  us.  We 
moderns  have  invented  amour  propre.  What  matters 
being  happy  ?  The  true  bliss  is,  that  others  think  you 
so.  We  have  realized  equality ;  and  all  these  good 
people  (even  to  Jem  Starbuck's  sister)  struggle  to 
escape  from  it.  Jem  Starbuck  was  a  nihilist,  and  their 
logical  counterpart.  What  did  Flossie  care  for  her 
two  horses  and  Russian  sleigh  and  silver  mountings 
and  black  and  white  furs  and  waving  scarlet  plumes  ? 
If  Central  Park  were  the  wastes  about  the  Northern 


A  Social  Success.  153 

Pole,  do  you  suppose  she  would  care  to  take  her  sleigh- 
ride  there,  and  show  off  to  old  John  Franklin's  whit- 
ened bones  alone  ?  Is  it  the  light,  and  the  air,  and  the 
motion,  that  makes  her  pleasure;  is  it  the  mere  child's 
delight  in  brilliant  colors  that  makes  her  flaunt  her 
trailing  scarlet  plumes ;  or  is  it  the  subtile  intoxica- 
tion of  the  world's  notice  of  those  things  the  world 
desires  ?  And  Mrs.  Gower's  equals  see  these  things 
and  do  homage;  and  their  daughters  wed  for  these, 
and  their  husbands  work ;  and  in  pretty  Jenny  Star- 
buck's  head,  walking  on  the  roadside,  the  homage 
turns  to  envy ;  and  in  James  her  brother's  heart,  to 
gall. 

Arthur  went  in  this  sleigh  many  times,  and  enjoyed 
it,  and  said  pretty  things  to  Mrs.  Gower  in  exchange. 
He  had  a  poet's  delight  in  rich  and  beautiful  things, 
in  show  and  speed  and  glitter.  Shine,  not  light, 
attracts  your  women,  says  Goethe ;  and  the  old  cour- 
tier-poet might  have  said  the  same  of  men,  himself 
included.  And  Mrs.  Gower  lolled  back,  beautiful, 
her  yellow  hair  shining  strangely  through  the  snow; 
so  Helen  in  the  Greek  sunlight ;  so  Faustina  in  the 
streets  of  noble  Rome ;  so  Gutrune,  by  whose  wiles 
twelve  thousand  heroes  and  the  gods  went  down  to 
darkling  death.  All  these  were  blondes,  and  smiled 
and  charmed  and  had  their  adoration  and  their  joy  of 
life.  What  call  had  Flossie  to  trouble  herself  with 
the  eternal  verities,  or  man's  past  or  future  ?  She  was 
not  eternal.  She  was,  furthermore,  a  skeptic  and  a 
cynic — if  a  butterfly  can  be  said  to  be  skeptic  of  eter- 
nal life.  She  had  no  real  knowledge  of  the  things  she 


154  First  Harvests. 

won.  She  would  have  liked  the  sword  of  Siegfried 
for  a  panoply,  to  put  the  Grail  in  her  cabinet  of  rare 
china.  She  would  have  liked  to  possess  these  things, 
and  money  and  fans  and  dresses,  and  have  other 
women  know  that  she  possessed  them.  She  would 
have  liked  to  possess  men's  hearts. 

Not  that  she  was  wicked.  She  was  no  tragedy 
queen,  no  evil  heroine  of  romance ;  she  had  no  desire, 
so  far  as  she  knew,  to  injure  any  one.  She  would 
have  paid  a  fortune  for  a  picture  that  other  people 
admired  ;  but  she  would  have  exchanged  it  for  a  ball- 
dress,  had  there  been  but  one  ball-dress  in  the  world  ; 
and  she  simply  did  not  believe  in  the  Holy  Grail,  or 
the  sword  of  Siegfried,  or  men's  hearts.  So  a  rude 
conqueror  thirsts  for  the  great  King's  talisman,  and 
barters  it  for  an  ounce  of  colored  glass,  and  wears  the 
latter  on  a  ring  in  his  nose.  But  yet  this  glass  is  not 
the  ultimate  reality,  despite  its  wearer's  pride. 

So  some  air-dwelling  German  has  told  us,  longtime 
the  world  slumbered  unconscious,  wrapped  in  a  dream- 
less sleep.  And  the  gold  of  the  Rhine  still  slumbered 
in  its  waters,  and  the  gods  kept  guard.  Then  all 
things  broke  to  consciousness,  after  a  myriad  of  cycles 
of  years;  and  their  first  awakening  was  a  joy;  and 
men  arose,  and  lived  in  the  light  of  the  earth.  But 
shortly,  after  some  few  centuries,  this  consciousness 
became  a  blight ;  and  they  turned,  and  knew  them- 
selves. And  the  gold  was  wrested  from  the  deep 
waters  by  an  evil  race  of  men,  forswearing  love  for- 
ever ;  and  the  love  of  the  world  turned  to  avarice,  and 
the  love  of  man  to  the  love  of  self,  and_the  love  divine 


A  Social  Success.  155 

was  forgotten  and  whelmed  in  the  dusk  of  the  gods. 
And  so  the  pessimists  of  the  day  must  follow  out  the 
old  myth,  and  tell  us  that  the  end  and  cure  of  all  is 
this  darkness  of  the  gods,  the  death  of  all  things,  the 
black  waters  that  well  again  from  earth,  the  rising 
waves  of  the  dreamless  sea. 

But  behind  Zeus  and  Prometheus  and  Hera  lay 
Fate,  a  power  not  themselves,  to  whom  both  gods  and 
men  must  bow.  And  beneath  Wotan  and  Loge  sits 
Erda,  in  the  heart  of  Earth,  silent ;  and  the  web  of 
things  to  come  is  spun,  slowly,  by  the  silent  Norns. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    DIVERSIONS    OF    FINE   LADIES. 

|ARIS  had  palled  upon  Mr.  Caryl  Wemyss, 
and  in  February  he  returned  to  New 
York.  Paris,  he  found,  had  deteriorated 
since  the  Empire.  Moreover,  his  social 
position  there  was  not  wholly  satisfactory.  In  Lon- 
don it  was  better ;  but  even  there  they  did  not  suffi- 
ciently distinguish  between  him  and  other  Ameri- 
cans ;  between  him,  son  of  the  famous  poet-dramatist, 
minister  to  England  and  man  of  letters,  when  there 
were  no  other  American  men  of  letters,  and,  for 
instance,  the  present  minister,  whom  Wemyss  did 
not  consider  a  gentleman  at  all.  So  his  friend,  the 
young  Earl  of  Birmingham,  wishing  to  visit  America, 
Wemyss  had  returned  with  him  ;  and  was  now  pi- 
loting that  nobleman  through  the  maze  of  New  York 
society. 

But  this  proved  a  more  difficult  task  than  Wemyss 
anticipated ;  for  the  Earl  was  quite  unable  to  recog- 
nize any  distinctions,  and  evinced  a  most  catholic 
taste  for  all  beauty,  unadorned  by  birth,  and  pretty 
faces  without  pedigree.  And  now  the  Farnums  had 
presumed  to  give  a  ball  in  his  honor ;  and  Birming- 
ham was  there,  and  Wemyss,  of  course,  had  had  to  go 


The  Diversions  of  Fine  Ladies.       157 

there  with  him,  and  Flossie  Gower  had  come  to  keep 
him  company. 

A  man  may  be  a  peer  of  England  and  wear  a  coro- 
net ;  but  a  man's  a  man  for  a'  that.  And  as  the 
pudgy,  little,  sandy-haired  Englishman,  with  his  scrap 
of  whisker,  his  red  eyes  and  his  white  eyebrows,  stood 
beside  Miss  Farnum,  it  was  easy,  at  least  for  Wemyss 
and  Flossie  Gower,  to  see  that  he  was  much  im- 
pressed. 

If  one  had  to  name  the  potent  quality  of  Miss  Far- 
num's  presence,  I  should  call  it  majesty ;  you,  per- 
haps, might  call  it  scorn.  Her  walk  was  that  of  Juno, 
over  clouds ;  beneath  her  coronal  of  red-brown  hair 
her  eyes  were  great  and  gray,  now  looking  out  beyond 
you,  over  all  things,  sphinx-like — now  introspective, 
but  disdainful  still. 

Mrs.  Gower  could  see  that  she  treated  Birming- 
ham as  a  high-priestess  might  some  too  importunate 
worshipper  ;  and  the  noble  Englishman  was,  for  once, 
embarrassed  of  his  person — and  by  hers. 

"  Who  is  that  girl  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Gower  of  Wemyss. 
"  The  daughter  of  our  host  ?  " 

"  A  fine  piece  of  flesh  and  blood,"  said  he. 

"A  fine  piece  of  soul  and  spirit,  or  I  am  much  mis- 
taken," retorted  Mrs.  Gower.  "  See,  she  positively 
dares  to  be  bored,  and  the  Earl  is  at  his  trumps  at 
last.  Really,  I  must  have  her  at  my  house " 

"  She'd  be  charmed  to  go,  I've  no  doubt,"  said 
Wemyss,  with  the  gesture  of  a  yawn.  "But  come, 
you  surely  don't  expect  me  to  talk  to  one  pretty 
woman  of  another  ?  Tell  me  of  yourself." 


158  First  Harvests. 

"  What  is  there  to  tell  ?  Look  at  Baby  Malgam's 
violets — they  are  lovely." 

"  The  loveliness  of  violets,"  said  Wemyss,  "  is  a  fact 
established  some  years  since,  and  which  I  am  ready  at 
all  times  and  seasons  to  admit.  Your  own  loveliness 
is  a  more  inspiring  subject." 

Mrs.  Gower  took  absolutely  no  notice  of  this,  but 
continued  to  watch  Miss  Farnum,  as  a  vampire 
might  study  a  torpedo.  Wemyss  was  seeking  a  more 
gracious  simile,  when  Charlie  Townley  came  up  and 
ousted  him.  "  You  are  coming  to  Tony  Duval's  sup- 
per at  the  ball,  Mrs.  Gower  ?  Tony  has  got  the  Earl 
and  Mrs.  Malgam " 

"  Oh,  I  am  going — if  it  will  not  shock  Mr.  Wemyss 
here,"  laughed  Flossie.  Wemyss  cast  at  her  one 
look  of  grave  reproach,  and  bowed  his  own  dismissal. 
To  suppose  that  anything  done  by  others  could 
ruffle  his  own  breeding — he,  a  polished  patrician  of 
the  decadence  !  (The  decadence  was  a  favorite  theme 
of  Wemyss ;  perhaps  it  was  pleasant  to  think  that  the 
society  in  which  he  had  not  been  a  success — at  least, 
not  a  popular  success — was  rushing  to  its  own  failure.) 
Townley  sat  down  by  Mrs.  Gower. 

"  But  seriously,  Charlie,  don't  you  think  it  may  be 
a  trifle  risque" — this  opera  ball  ?  " 

"  Qui  it  a  rien,  ne  risque  rien"  said  Charlie,  bowing. 
Flossie  laughed ;  he  was  one  of  her  ancient  train, 
discarded ;  a  privileged  character.  In  reality  this 
ball,  advertised  to  be  improper,  was  very  decent  and 
very  dreary,  for  the  most  part.  And  they  could  draw 
the  curtain  of  their  box,  like  peris  in  paradise  over- 


The  Diversions  of  Fine  Ladies.       159 

looking  gehenna,  and  turn  aside  from  the  multitude 
below. 

But  perhaps  we  shall  see  more,  if  we  go  with  Jenny 
Starbuck.  For  he  had  asked  her,  too ;  and  she  was 
going,  masked,  upon  the  floor.  She  had  hesitated 
much  ;  and  refused  an  invitation  from  Mr.  Dave  St. 
Clair.  Probably  it  would  have  given  her  more  moral 
courage  had  she  known  that  Mrs.  Levison  Gower 
was  going  too. 

Her  brother  James  she  had  not  seen  for  months ; 
not  since  that  night  when  she  had  turned  him  into 
the  street.  She  did  not  care  ;  he  was  but  a  common 
fellow,  and  she  meant  to  be  a  lady.  For  some  time 
she  had  taken  lessons  for  the  stage,  as  being  the 
quickest  path  to  elegance  of  life  ;  but  she  was  a  stupid 
woman,  intellectually,  and  had  not  mind  for  this.  In 
mind  she  was  not  like  her  unknown  cousin,  Flossie  ; 
but  she  could  only  imitate  her  in  what  she  saw.  Her 
quilted  satin  cloak  was  very  like  Flossie's ;  and  she 
too  could  get  into  a  coup£  and  tell  the  coachman  to 
drive  to  the  Academy. 

An  immense  board  floor  had  been  laid  over  the  en- 
tire theatre ;  scattered  about  this  were  orange  and 
lemon  trees  in  green  tubs  ;  and  among  them  walked 
perhaps  a  couple  of  hundred  people — nearly  all  in 
fancy-dress  and  many  with  false  noses  or  fantastic 
wigs.  They  looked  like  the  chorus  of  an  opera  just 
dismissed,  except  that  they  appeared  more  low- 
spirited  and  ill  at  ease.  Many  of  the  women  were  in 
men's  costumes — Magyar  uniforms,  Cossack,  Aus- 
trian ;  some  even  were  in  jocose  dresses,  making  a 


160  First  Harvests. 

burlesque  of  themselves;  and  Jenny,  dressed  like  a 
lady,  looked  on  these  with  scorn.  Here  and  there  a 
quadrille  was  being  danced,  and  among  these  were  a 
few  paid  dancers  whose  kicks  and  gyrations  were  sup- 
posed to  indicate  spontaneous  gayety  and  exuberance 
of  joy.  Taken  all  in  all,  it  did  not  so  well  imitate 
Paris,  even,  as  Flossie  Gower  and  her  following, 
London. 

But  Jenny  stood  waiting  at  the  dressing-room 
door,  and  did  not  venture  on  the  floor  alone.  It  was 
still  more  than  half  empty,  and  though  the  great  or- 
chestra rang  out  in  most  exciting  rhythm,  the  crowd 
seemed  cold.  But  above,  in  the  tiers  of  boxes,  every 
box  was  full ;  here  the  women  all  were  dressed  like 
Jenny,  and  a  few  were  even  masked. 

She  waited  there,  in  vain;  till,  finally,  Mr.  St.  Clair 
saw  her  and  offered  himself  as  escort,  magnanimously. 
Jenny  was  glad  enough  to  take  his  arm,  and  they 
made  the  tour  of  the  floor.  He  laughed  at  her  for 
wearing  her  mask,  but  she  insisted  still.  The  band 
broke  into  a  waltz — fiery,  intoxicating  ;  the  floor  filled 
with  dancers,  glancing  by  them  in  gay  colors,  fanci- 
fully dressed  ;  but  there  were  more  diamonds  in  the 
boxes,  and  bare  necks,  and  men  in  ordinary  evening 
dress.  In  front  of  her  was  a  large  box,  with  three  or 
four  ladies,  masked ;  one,  her  breast  all  covered  with 
a  diamond  rain.  The  box  was  just  above  the  place 
where  Jenny  stood  ;  and  she  looked  at  the  necklace 
enviously.  Its  owner  gave  a  little  scream,  and  Jenny 
heard  the  words,  how  shocking!  Jenny  followed  her 
glance  ;  beside  her  on  the  floor  were  two  girls  in  satin 


The  Diversions  of  Fine  Ladies.       161 

tights.  Then  as  she  looked  back  to  the  box,  she  saw 
Mr.  Townley  bend  down  and  speak  to  her;  Jenny 
lifted  her  own  mask  a  moment  and  tossed  her  head 
at  him  and  smiled,  then  leaned  heavier  on  the  arm 
of  Dave  St.  Clair. 

Charlie  got  over  his  confusion  in  a  moment ;  but 
not  too  quickly  for  a  chorus  of  delighted  laughter 
from  the  ladies  near  him.  "  Who  is  she,  Mr.  Town- 
ley  ?"  laughed  she  of  the  diamonds;  "she's  very 
pretty."  And  "tell  us  all  about  it,  Charlie — we  won't 
tell,"  roared  Tony  Duval. 

"  You're  welcome  to  all  I  know,"  said  Townley, 
coolly.  "She's  a  dress-maker  on  Sixth  Avenue,  and 
makes  dresses  for  my  aunt."  Tony  only  laughed  the 
more  at  this,  and  good-natured  Lucie  Gower  led 
Charlie  out  of  the  box.  "  Come,"  said  he,  "  you  must 
introduce  me  to  her ;  I'm  sure  she  does  business  with 
my  uncle."  In  the  back  of  the  box  a  little,  red-haired 
Englishman  was  talking  to  a  younger  lady,  sitting  in 
the  shadow ;  and  she  was  glad,  when  everybody's  at- 
tention was  drawn  to  a  masked  figure  in  the  box  op- 
posite— a  lady  whose  green  tulle  dress  and  very  low 
corsage  bespoke  her  also  fashionable.  "  What  superb 
emeralds  !  "  cried  the  black-haired  lady,  in  front. 

"  I'd  have  thought  Mrs.  Hay  would  have  known 
better,"  said  the  other.  "  But  there's  no  mistaking 
the  emeralds — on  those  shoulders " 

"  What !  you  don't  say  its  Mrs.  Wilton  Hay  ? 
Where  did  she  get  them  ?  I  asked  Jack  for  a  set  not 
half  so  fine,  and  they  cost  a  fortune.  Who  gave  them 
to  her?" 


1 62  First  Harvests. 

"  Mr.  Hay,  of  course,"  laughed  the  other. 

"  You  did  not  know  diplomacy  had  been  so  profit- 
able ?  "  said  Tony  Duval.  "  See,  there  goes  your  hus- 
band— he  has  just  been  introduced  to  the  blonde 
beauty." 

"  Not  really  ?  'Pon  honor,  I  didn't  think  he  had  it 
in  him,"  said  she.  Then  Tony  Duval  began  to  relate 
to  his  companion  an  anecdote  of  a  nature  that  seemed 
to  Arthur  most  surprising;  he  was  sitting  behind  the 
rivtire  of  diamonds;  and  the  rest  of  the  company 
seemed  bored. 

"  Positively,  Mr.  Wemyss,  there  is  nothing  new 
under  the  sun,"  answered  the  blonde  in  front.  "  Af- 
ter all,  the  flowery  paths  seem  quite  as  stupid  as 
the  straight  and  narrow  way." 

"  It's  very  slow,"  answered  he  addressed.  "  They've 
too  much  conscience  for  it  still." 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  another,  "  we  could  give  them 
lessons." 

It  was  Van  Kull  who  spoke ;  and  in  the  pause  that 
ensued  came  the  point  of  Duval's  story,  accentuated 
by  the  silence;  and  Wemyss  tactfully  called  attention 
to  an  adjoining  box,  where  the  ladies  were  sitting 
with  their  feet  upon  the  railing,  smoking  cigarettes. 

"  Come,"  said  she  of  the  diamonds,  rising ;  "  we 
have  had  our  moral  lesson ;  it  is  time  to  go." 

From  the  floor,  Jenny  Starbuck  had  watched  this 
box,  until  she  saw  them  rise  as  if  to  go.  She  stayed 
at  the  ball  many  hours  later.  But  Arthur,  in  the 
back  of  the  box,  was  witness  of  a  little  scene  that  she 
could  not  see. 


The  Diversions  of  Fine  Ladies.       163 

The  elder  ladies  went  out  first,  passing  the  Earl, 
who  seemed  busied  with  his  companion's  opera-cloak. 
She  was  standing,  leaning  upon  the  back  of  an  arm- 
chair, with  her  weight  upon  one  round,  bare  arm  ; 
and  as  Arthur  went  out  of  the  door  he  was  almost 
certain  that  he  saw  their  noble  guest  lay  his  hand 
upon  her  arm,  familiarly. 

A  second  after,  and  Arthur  had  dropped  his  opera- 
glass  ;  it  rolled  back  into  the  box,  and  he  went  back 
for  it.  There  was  no  change  in  Kitty  Farn urn's  atti- 
tude ;  she  was  still  leaning  on  the  chair,  but  looking 
at  Lord  Birmingham  :  her  face  cold  and  fixed,  like 
some  scornful  face  of  stone.  She  gave  her  arm  to 
Arthur  and  walked  out. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN  MAIDEN   MEDITATION. 

[RACIE  was  sitting  alone  in  her  own  room; 
she  had  been  reading — the  "  Faery 
Queene"  the  book — but  it  had  slipped 
from  her  hand — and  now  she  was  think- 
ing. Not  of  herself,  but  of  others ;  Arthur,  perhaps, 
principally.  For  she  had  given  her  heart  to  him  ;  and 
in  a  perfect  maidenly  love  there  is  always  some  fore- 
taste of  the  maternal,  a  fond  solicitude  as  of  a  mother 
for  her  child.  Perhaps  even  Arthur  did  not  know 
how  much  she  thought  of  him  :  and  Mrs.  Livingstone 
was  too  much  bound  up  in  Mamie,  and  Mamie  too 
much  in  herself,  to  notice  it ;  Miss  Brevier  alone  had 
seen  it,  and  had  held  her  peace.  Gracie  fancied  that  no 
one  knew  it,  save  Arthur  himself ;  though  for  her  and 
Arthur  it  had  changed  the  world.  The  world  itself 
she  did  not  understand  ;  all  things  did  not  look  clear 
to  her  that  winter;  the  people  of  her  acquaintance 
puzzled  her.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  she  would  not 
have  their  sympathy  in  all  ways  ;  but  this  could  not 
be  proven,  for  Gracie  never  made  a  confidante.  Now 
Mamie  Livingstone,  on  the  other  hand,  confided 
everything  to  her  ;  and  then,  apparently,  forgot  it  all, 
much  as  a  Parisian  lady  may  be  supposed  to  forget 
the  substance  of  her  last  auricular  confession  :  for 


In  Maiden  Meditation.  165 

Gracic  noted  a  certain  repugnancy  or  incoherence  in 
this  young  woman's  heart  history  of  which  the  heart's 
possessor  was  unaware  entirely. 

Mamie  was  intensely  a  metropolitan  girl ;  the  ex- 
quisitely sensitive  product  of  a  great  social  nerve-cen- 
tre. She  did  not  know  her  Emerson,  and  was  wholly 
untroubled  with  "  the  whichness  of  the  why  : "  but 
she  had  mastered  her  own  environment  at  an  early 
age.  And  she  had — except,  of  course,  as  against 
young  men,  her  natural  prey — a  frank  disposition  and 
a  warm  heart. 

The  great  event  of  her  life,  her  appearance  in  soci- 
ety, was  to  take  place  in  the  season  following ;  and  all 
through  this  winter  Mamie  was  in  a  state  of  electric 
anticipation.  She  was  already  laying,  in  an  innocent 
and  girlish  way, her  wires.  What  Gracie  failed  chiefly 
to  understand  was  these  very  love  confidences,  above 
mentioned :  for  though  Mamie  talked  most  ardently 
of  the  qualities  of  her  successive  swains,  they  seemed 
to  bear  a  much  more  definite  relation  to  her  own  self- 
love  than  to  her  heart.  But  then,  it  was  her  self-love 
that  was  the  source  of  motive  to  her ;  her  heart  was 
an  amusement  only.  And  Mamie  knew  the  world,  as 
has  before  been  hinted,  a  priori ;  she  was  a  girl  of 
transcendental  mind,  who  saw  through  the  copper- 
plate formulas  of  her  study-books  to  the  realities 
around  her ;  with  innate  ideas  and  tastes  as  to  what 
was  fashionable  and  really  fine.  She  alternately  pa- 
tronized and  petted  Gracie,  who  was  three  years  older 
than  herself ;  yet  Gracie  had  more  influence  over  her 
than  anyone  else.  As  for  the  parental  authority  of 


1 66  First  Harvests. 

her  father  and  mother — the  phrase  is  too  grotesquely 
mediaeval  to  be  completed.  Mr.  Livingstone  was  an 
old  gentleman  with  a  million  and  a  half  of  property, 
whose  manners  had  outlived  his  mind. 

Gracie  was  looking — if  I  could  describe  to  you  the 
manner  of  her  look,  you  would  all  men  be  poor  Ar- 
thur's rivals,  I  am  sure ;  the  direction  of  her  look  was 
simply  to  the  northward,  through  the  window.  The 
manner  of  it — perhaps  even  Arthur  never  wholly 
noted  it ;  may  be  he  thought  all  girls  had  it ;  may  be 
he  even  preferred  the  scintillating  alertness  of  Pussie 
Duval's  or  Baby  Malgam's — people  now  called  her 
Baby  with  a  touch  of  malice — which  was  more  new 
to  him.  It  was  a  deep  and  holy  radiance,  as  if  the 
look's  object  were  not  yet  quite  found,  and  a  certain 
questioning  withal.  Gracie  was  almost  sure  to  have 
it  when  alone ;  perhaps  a  certain  exquisite  if  uncon- 
scious tact  restrained  it,  with  other  girls,  lest  they 
should  call  it  pose ;  but  no  man — that  is,  no  man — 
ever  saw  it  fairly,  but  his  soul  was  turned  to  fire. 
Medusa's  look  it  was  that  turned  a  man  to  stone ; 
but  there  seems  to  be  no  metaphor  for  this  opposite 
one.  Perhaps  because  the  Greeks  had  never  met  with 
it ;  it  is  found  since  Hamlet  and  since  Gretchen,  and 
grows  mostly  in  the  country,  with  books,  sweet 
thoughts,  and  solitude.  I  have  more  rarely  met  with 
it  in  crowded  colleges ;  yet  it  is  not  absolutely  incon- 
sistent with  a  knowledge  of  Greek. 

"  You  do  look  so  sweet,  cousine,"  cried  Mamie  as 
she  tripped  into  the  room,  "  but  awfully  poky.  I've 
got  such  a  thing  to  tell  you  about  Mrs.  Lucie  Gower. 


In  Maiden  Meditation.  167 

And  oh,  do  you  know  ?  Charlie  Townley  called  here 
to-day.  And  somebody  else  too — aha  ?  " 

"  Who  was  it  ? ''  said  Gracie. 

"Who  was  it,  Ma'am  Soft-airs,  indeed.  Cousine? 
do  let  me  try  a  bit  of  rouge  some  time — that  blush 
was  so  becoming  to  you.  Mr.  Haviland,  of  course  ; 
and  I  peeked  through  the  crack  of  the  door  when  the 
servant  said  you  weren't  at  home.  But  tell  me, 
Gracie  dear,  do  you  think  it  would  do  for  me  to  ask 
Mr.  Townley  to  dinner  next  time  ?  You  know,  I've 
had  all  the  younger  men,  and  he  dances  like  an  an- 
gel." 

"  Why,  Mamie,  you  don't  mean  to  have  a  dance  ?" 

"  No,  no,  stupid,  but  for  next  winter,  I  mean.  I'm 
determined  to  have  Charlie  lead  my  german,  you 
know ;  they  say  all  the  young  married  women  are 
fighting  for  him.  And  the  only  other  man  is  Daisy 
Blake,  and  he's  too  slow  for  anything.  Besides,  I'm 
dead  in  love  with  Townley,  you  know." 

"  Oh,"  said  Gracie. 

"  I  heard  he  gave  a  supper-party  last  night,  and 
both  Mrs.  Gower  and  Mrs.  Malgam  were  there,  and 
the  Earl  of  Birmingham  ;  and  afterward  they  all  went 
in  masks  to  a  public  ball.  Wasn't  it  horrid  ?  And 
just  think  what  fun  it  would  be  to  get  him  away 
from  those  married  women  ?  Why,  Marion  Roster 
told  me  last  year  that  the  debutantes  had  no  chance 
at  all.  I'll  see  about  that."  And  Mamie  stamped 
her  little  foot  and  tossed  her  pretty  head  defiantly ; 
and  indeed  it  looked  as  if  the  filly  might  make  it  hard 
running  for  the  four-year-olds,  And  Charlie  Townley, 


1 68  First  Harvests. 

had  he  seen  it,  might  have  felt  that  he  had  gotten  his 
reward  on  earth.  For  I  doubt  if  any  poet's  bays  or 
any  soldier's  laurel  were  more  highly  prized  by  maid 
or  wife  than  Mamie,  the  rich,  well-bred,  well-born, 
rated  Charlie  Townley's  style  of  excellence.  Le  style 
cest  Fhommey  says  some  old,  grave  writer  ;  what  then 
is  style  to  a  giddy  young  woman  ?  And  I  doubt  if 
either  bays  or  laurel  be  so  marketable.  And  Charlie 
was  a  man  of  the  world,  familiar  to  its  stock-ex- 
changes ;  who  did  not  mean  to  marry,  but  meant  to 
marry  well. 

Gracie  looked  at  Mamie  Livingstone  with  some 
faint  wonder ;  and  then  the  young  girl  laughed  loudly, 
as  was  usual,  and  kissed  her,  and  called  her  a  dear 
old  thing  ;  and  laughed  again,  as  if  she  had  been  jest- 
ing. And  so  the  other  one  supposed  it,  and  smiled 
back  through  Mamie's  many  kisses. 

"  Look  here,"  Mamie  began  again,  with  a  gesture  of 
triumph  ;  and  she  pulled  a  note  from  her  pocket,  and 
waved  it  triumphantly  in  Gracie's  face.  "  I've  got  a 
note  from  him  already  !  " 

"  Oh,  Mamie " 

"  'Sh,  Ma'am  Prunes  and  Prisms — it's  only  about  a 
summer  fan.  I  asked  him  to  get  akind  which  I  knew 
had  only  been  made  at  one  place  down  town,  and 
they  were  all  sold  out,  so  he  had  to  write  and  tell  me 
so.  See,  isn't  the  signature  nice?  'your  devoted  ser- 
vant, Charles  Townley ' — and  such  a  nice  manly 
hand."  And  Mamie  roguishly  made  pretence  of 
kissing  it,  the  while  her  ey£'s  danced  with  merriment. 
Gracie  looked  at  her — puzzled ;  and  Mamie  only 


In  Maiden  Meditation.  169 

laughed  the  more.  "  There,  there,  don't  look  so 
grave,  you  delightful  old  darling;  it's  not  so  awfully 
serious,  after  all — yet."  And  with  the  final  burst  of 
laughter  that  accompanied  her  last  word,  Mamie 
danced  from  the  room. 

Left  alone,  Gracie's  smile,  which  had  reflected 
Mamie's,  changed  to  a  deeper  look,  a  look  that 
Mamie's  face  could  never  mirror.  Yes,  it  was  a  puz- 
zle, in  a  way ;  people  so  rarely  seemed  to  care  for  the 
essentials  of  things.  Gracie's  notion  of  a  man  was 
enlightened  heroism,  of  a*  woman  perfect  bravery  and 
trust,  and  the  light  in  the  lives  of  both  the  light  of 
the  world  that  comes  from  another,  like  the  sun's. 
But  to  these  young  ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  light 
of  the  world  was  the  light  of  a  ball-room. 

So  she  sat  there,  looking  northward  over  the  roofs 
and  steeples,  to  the  bright  sky-line  ;  and  perhaps,  if 
an  eye  were  at  the  other  end  of  that  ray  of  light  that 
slanted  through  space  to  meet  her  own,  it  saw  a  hu- 
man soul.  But  to  the  telegraph  wires  and  brick 
chimneys,  to  Mamie  and  the  men  near  by  on  the  roofs, 
it  was  a  girl  with  a  pretty  face  like  another. 

Human  nature,  they  tell  us ;  and  another  says, 
people  are  all  alike  when  it  comes  to  the  point ;  and 
the  motives  of  mankind  have  ever  been  the  same,  says 
a  third.  The  course  of  history  is  thus  and  so;  it  is 
human  nature  to  do  this,  and  take  this  bundle  of  hay 
rather  than  that ;  and  we  are  all  alike,  they  repeat 
again ;  scholars,  men,  and  books  repeat  again,  until 
we  do  become  human  nature— or  drown  ourselves  in 
preference. 


170  First  Harvests. 

But  it  is  a  lie.  Humanity  is  not  all  alike  ;  it  is  as 
a  broad  plain  of  grass  or  weeds ;  and  this  is  alike. 
But  among  it,  here  and  there,  there  flames  a  poppy, 
and  above  it,  here  and  there,  stands  up  the  glorious 
lily,  like  a  halo  on  a  flower's  stem ;  and  beneath  it 
breathes  the  sweet  and  gentle  violet.  Hard  by  grow 
the  weeds,  and  dock  and  hardy  thistles  ;  on  one  stem 
perhaps  with  these,  unconscious  of  them. 

So  mankind  is  a  great  crowd  composed  of  common 
units,  all  alike  ;  but  with  them  walking,  mostly  alone, 
there  journeys  the  hero,  and  there  the  martyr,  and 
the  woman  with  a  soul.  And  the  hero  looks  straight 
ahead,  sad  and  strong ;  the  martyr  looks  up  to  hea- 
ven ;  and  the  soul  looks  about  it  and  breathes  its  fra- 
grance to  its  fellows. 

But  the  crowd  is  so  great  that  these  three,  though 
they  are  many,  yet  seem  few.  And  they  journey  as 
they  may,  and  work,  and  do,  and  die ;  but  ah  me ! 
they  are  lonely,  for  they  seldom  meet,  each  one  the 
other;  they  are  fortunate  if  they  see  each  other's 
radiance  dimly,  through  the  crowded  field. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  CULTIVATOR  OF  THISTLES. 

|PRING  had  come.  Theatres  were  fuller, 
the  opera  not  so  full ;  dancing  parties 
were  less  frequent,  and  there  began  to  be 
talk  of  races  and  of  country  parties;  it 
was  no  longer  a  rule  without  exception  that  the  men 
wore  dress  suits  who  were  dining  at  Delmonico's.  Be- 
sides this,  there  were  also  the  green  buds,  and  the 
crocuses,  and  the  twitter  of  the  birds  in  Central  Park. 
Arthur  Holyoke  looked  like  the  spring,  as  he  saun- 
tered down  the  steps  of  his  lodgings  with  a  light  stick 
and  betook  himself,  swinging  it,  to  that  temple  of  a 
modern  Janus,  the  railway  station.  Ah,  you  may 
talk  to  me  of  rialtos  and  bridges  of  sighs,  of  moonlit 
pavilions  and  of  temples,  court-rooms,  and  shrines  ; 
but  the  great  stage  of  humanity,  of  catastrophes,  part- 
ings, and  denouements — is  it  not  now  the  railway  sta- 
tion ?  Here  the  jaded  head  of  a  family,  tired  of 
struggling,  beheads  himself  by  abandoning  his  mid- 
dle-aged wife  and  her  six  children  ;  here  Jack,  fresh 
from  college,  goes  down  to  that  country  party  where 
he  shall  meet  Jill,  and  proposes  to  her,  the  very  next 
night  but  one,  on  the  piazza,  above  the  tennis-ground. 
Here  mamma  comes  home,  or  papa  goes  away ;  or  we 


172  First  Harvests. 

leave  for  India,  or  Grinnell  Land,  or  school.  This  is  the 
portal  to  pleasant  long  vacations,  and  to  dreary  work- 
ing days ;  here  Edwin  and  Angelina  begin  their 
new  life,  and  murderers  escape ;  and  old  men  come 
home. 

Arthur  had  gained  decision,  alertness  in  his  man- 
ner ;  he  wore  a  spring  suit  of  a  most  beautiful  deli- 
cate color ;  if  he  had  luggage,  it  was  all  disposed  of, 
and  he  looked  like  a  poet  hovering  above  earthly 
cares.  In  the  one  hand  he  held  an  Evening  Post,  in 
the  other  a  cigarette ;  and  as  he  took  his  seat  in  the 
parlor-car  he  opened  the  one  and  threw  away  the  other 
in  a  manner  that  betokened  his  content  with  himself, 
and,  consequently,  with  the  world.  For  he  was  go- 
ing on  a  week's  visit  to  La  Lisiere,  the  country-seat  of 
the  Levison-Gowers,  at  Catfish-on-the-Hudson. 

Arthur  looked  about  to  see  if  any  of  his  fellow- 
guests  were  on  the  train ;  but  there  was  no  one  who 
looked  like  a  likely  member  of  so  select  a  party  as  all 
of  Mrs.  Levison-Gower's  were  known  to  be.  There 
was  a  maiden  with  a  gold  ornament  at  her  neck,  and 
a  pot-hatted  and  paunchy  personage  with  a  black  coat 
and  tie — both  quite  impossible.  Arthur  gave  them 
up  and  buried  himself  in  his  newspaper. 

At  Catfish  he  alighted,  and  standing  with  his  lug- 
gage, on  the  outer  platform,  looked  about  him  inquir- 
ingly. A  groom,  who  was  standing  by  a  pretty  little 
dog-cart  with  a  nervous  horse,  touched  his  hat.  Ar- 
thur walked  up  to  him.  "  Can  you  tell  me  how  to 
get  to  Mrs.  Levison  Gower's  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Holyoke  ? ''   said   the   groom,  touching   his 


A   Cultivator  of  Thistles.  173 

hat  again.  "  This  is  to  be  your  horse,  sir,"  and  plac- 
ing the  reins  in  Arthur's  hands,  he  lifted  the  leather 
trunk  and  overcoats  in  behind.  Arthur  got  in  front 
and  the  horse  started  at  a  jump,  the  groom  catching 
on  as  they  turned.  "  Beg  pardon,  sir, — first  turn  to 
the  left,  sir,"  said  he,  as  Arthur  held  in  the  horse  and 
hesitated  at  the  first  dividing  place  of  roads.  Thus 
directed,  they  soon  came  to  a  high  stone  gate,  clad 
with  ivy,  each  post  surmounted  by  a  stone  griffin 
which  Arthur  recognized  as  belonging  to  the  Leve- 
son-Gower  arms.  (The  American  family,  said  Mrs. 
Gower,  spelt  it  with  an  i.)  Through  this  they  passed 
and  by  a  lodge  with  a  couple  of  children  at  the  door, 
who  courtesied  as  he  drove  by ;  and  then  through 
quite  a  winding  mile  of  well-kept  park  and  green  cop- 
piced valley.  At  last  they  reached  the  house  ;  in 
front  of  it  was  a  level  lawn  and  terrace  bounded  by  a 
stone  balustrade,  and  beneath  this  lay  the  blue  Hud- 
son and  the  shimmering  mountains  beyond. 

Arthur  was  given  a  small  room,  in  the  third  story  ; 
but  it  had  a  view  of  the  river  and  a  comfortable  dress- 
ing-room ;  from  the  window  of  which  he  caught  a  view 
of  a  most  glorious  sky  as  the  sun  went  down  behind 
the  purple  mountains.  This  passed  the  time  very 
pleasantly;  for  it  took  him  only  a  few  minutes  to  dress, 
and  he  had  a  certain  delicacy  about  appearing  below, 
while  it  was  yet  sunlight,  in  his  dress  suit.  The  scene 
even  suggested  a  short  poem  to  him,  the  gradual  fad- 
ing of  one  mountain-crest  after  another  as  the  sun  left 
them  all  in  turn ;  something  about  the  sun  of  love 
illuminating  and  then  leaving  sombre  the  successive 


174  First  Harvests. 

ages  of  man.  But  the  clangor  of  a  gong  interrupted 
his  first  stanza ;  and  he  went  down-stairs. 

Here,  too,  they  were  admiring  the  beauties  of  nature. 
Several  of  the  guests  were  assembled  on  the  lawn- 
terrace  before  mentioned,  and  talking  in  subdued  tones 
about  the  scenery ;  among  them  two  or  three  lovely 
women,  flaunting  their  fair  heads  in  evening  dress  and 
laces.  Arthur  recognized  Miss  Farnum,  and  Mrs, 
Malgam,  and  who  was  that  lovely  creature  in  the  cor- 
ner with  Charlie  Townley  ?  A  most  radiant  and  per- 
fect blonde,  whose  yellow  hair  was  luminous  in  the 
twilight.  He  would  ask  his  hostess.  She  was  stand- 
ing in  the  corner  of  the  terrace,  leaning  over  the  stone 
balustrade  and  looking  into  the  still  depths  of  the 
forest  beneath  ;  a  man  was  beside  her.  She  turned  as 
Arthur  approached,  and  held  out  her  hand  frankly  to 
him. 

"So  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Holyoke,3'  said  she. 
"  Mr.  Wemyss  I  think  you  know." 

Arthur  did  know  Mr.  Wemyss  ;  and  admitted  as 
much  to  that  indifferent  gentleman.  "A  beautiful 
place  you  have  here,  Mrs.  Govver,"  was  all  he  could 
think  to  say. 

"  Perfect,"  added  Wemyss.  "  Look  at  that  moun- 
tain— not  the  first  one,  but  the  second,  half  lost  in  the 
gloom,  beyond  the  bay  of  bright  water — I  have  rarely 
seen  a  mountain  placed  with  more  exquisite  taste." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  replied  Mrs.  Gower  with  a 
slight  smile.  "  I  think  I  may  say,  with  Porthos,  that 
my  mountains  are  very  fine — '  mon  air  est  tres-bcau,' 
you  know." 


A   Cultivator  of  Thistles.  175 

"  Tell  me,  Mrs.  Gower,"  said  Arthur,  "  who  is  the 
lady  talking  with  the  man  I  do  not  know ;  the  dark 
man,  with  broad  shoulders  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  him  ?  That  is  Lionel  Derwent, 
the  great  English  traveller — writer — soldier — socialist 
— what  shall  I  say  ?  And  she  is  Mrs.  Wilton  Hay. 
You  must  indeed  know  her,  for  you  are  to  take  her  in 
to  dinner.  Shall  I  introduce  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Hay  was  one  of  those  apparent  and  obvious 
beauties  of  whom  all  young  men  are  rather  afraid. 
How  could  his  poor  attentions  content  so  experienced 
a  shrine  ?  Still,  it  was  in  a  state  of  rather  pleasurable 
panic  that  he  went  up  to  her,  was  presented,  and  made 
his  due  obeisance.  Mrs.  Hay  did  not  snub  him  ;  her 
mission  was  to  fascinate;  and  from  this  and  other 
points  about  her,  Arthur  divined  that  she  was  English. 
English  beauties  are  less  coy  than  ours,  and  more  eager 
to  please  :  all  professional  manners  must  be  equable. 
And  even  Mrs.  Flossie  Gower's  photographs  were  not 
sold  on  Broadway ;  though  perhaps  she  sighed  for 
that  distinction. 

"  I  am  told  I  am  to  have  the  pleasure  of  taking  you 
in  to  dinner,"  said  Arthur.  Mrs.  Hay  had  dazzled 
him  a  little,  and  he  could  think  of  nothing  better  to 
say. 

"  What  a  pity  you  had  to  be  told ! "  laughed  she. 
"  It  would  be  so  much  nicer  if  one  could  choose  part- 
ners, you  know.  It's  almost  as  bad  as  marriage,  isn't 
it  ?  All  the  spontaneity  of  the  companionship  is  de- 
stroyed ;  and  you  haven't  any  escape — at  least,  until 
after  dinner."  Now,  this  was  a  clever  device  of  the 


1/6  First  PI ar vests. 

siren  by  which  she  bound  Arthur  to  her  band  of 
adorers  for  the  whole  evening.  He  was  nothing 
loath. 

"  Marriage  ! "  he  answered  vaguely.  He  started  to 
tell  her  she  would  rob  the  grave  of  its  terrors,  let  alone 
matrimony ;  but  it  seemed  rather  sudden.  So  he 
laughed ;  and  swore  to  himself  as  he  felt  that  he  had 
laughed  sillily.  Was  he  such  a  country-boy  as  to  be 
afraid  of  this  woman  because  she  was  handsome  and 
he  saw  it  ? 

Dinner  was  announced  ;  so  he  offered  her  his  arm 
and  said  nothing  until  they  were  seated.  Then  they 
both  looked  around  ;  and  it  was  the  occasion  for  those 
whispered  confidences  about  the  general  coup  d'ccil 
and  the  appearance  of  their  fellow-creatures  which 
form  so  quickly  the  little  bonds  of  mutual  likes  and 
dislikes. 

And,  truly,  it  is  a  fine  and  a  suggestive  sight — a  din- 
ner party — custom  cannot  stale,  to  the  thoughtful 
guest,  its  infinite  variety ;  however  age  may  wither  it. 
For  are  not  here  collected,  in  one  carefully  arranged 
bouquet,  the  single  flowers  of  our  vast  society  ?  The 
newest  varieties,  the  brightest  tints  and  rarest  hybrids. 
Here  are  twelve  of  the  few  who  have  wealth  to  bloom 
and  give  fragrance,  leisure  to  cultivate,  develop,  and 
adorn  ;  they  are  fretted  with  no  cares  until  the  mor- 
row ;  their  duty  but  pleasure,  to  be  happy  their  one 
endeavor,  to  please  and  to  be  pleased.  I  am  afraid  to 
say  how  many  folk  have  labored  that  this  hour  should 
be  a  pleasant  one  to  these ;  shall  we  say,  a  thousand  ? 
The  table  is  snowy  and  sparkling;  about  it  sit  these 


A    Cultivator  of  Thistles.  177 

six  men,  whose  chief  virtue  seems  conformity,  those 
six  women,  whose  merit  seems  display.  They  do  not 
eat,  they  dine  ;  a  daily  sacrament  of  taste  and  studied 
human  life.  So,  far  above  the  cares  of  earth,  feast 
leisurely  the  careless  gods — do  they  not  ? 

Who  are  our  gods  and  goddesses  ?  Well,  first,  there 
;s  Mrs.  Levison-Gower;  she  is  in  gray  silk  and  silver, 
pc'tillante  with  esprit  (how  does  it  happen  that  she 
always  makes  one  go  to  the  French  for  epithets  ?)• 
On  the  right,  Lord  Birmingham,  who  looks  bored; 
next  him  (to  Arthur's  slight  surprise)  is  Kitty  Farnum. 
Then  John  Haviland  ;  then  Mrs.  Malgam  ;  then  Caryl 
Wemyss  at  the  end,  looking  irritable.  (Mr.  Gower 
was  away.)  On  his  right,  Mrs.  Wilton  Hay  (black 
velvet  is  her  dress,  without  lace  or  collar,  from  which 
her  blond  neck  bursts,  like  a  hot-house  bud) — then 
Arthur;  next  him,  little  Pussie  Duval  and  a  stranger; 
beyond  him,  Miss  Marion  Lenoir,  a  dinner  beauty,  and 
Lionel  Derwent,  on  his  hostess's  left,  and  scowling  at 
Lord  Birmingham.  Five — yes,  six  beautiful  women; 
half  a  dozen  picked  men.  A  veritable  round  table, 
with  women's  rights,  in  this  castle  by  the  storied  river, 
"  Tell  me,  who  is  that  next  you — a  fine-looking  man  ?" 
said  Mrs.  Hay. 

"  I  believe  his  name  is  Van  Kull,"  said  Arthur,  in- 
differently. 

"  Oh,  indeed  ?  "  said  she,  with  interest ;  and  hon- 
ored our  old  acquaintance  with  her  eyeglass.  "  I  heard 
he  was  such  a  favorite  with  the  Prince."  And  as  we 
have  not  seen  Kill  Van  Kull  for  some  years,  a  hint  as 
to  his  past  would  not  be  amiss.  Only,  you  mustn't 

12 


178  First  Harvests. 

refer  to  his  recent  past,  beyond  the  last  two  months. 
The  fact  is,  Van  Kull  had  a  way  of  disappearing,  under 
complicated  circumstances;  but  as  he  always  returned 
alone,  after  a  few  months,  society  pardoned  it.  Par- 
ticularly when  he  came  back  with  a  man,  a  lord,  or 
fresh  from  a  visit  at  Sandringham — New  York  tries 
hard  to  be  virtuous ;  but  what  can  it  do  when  an  of- 
fence is  condoned  by  London  ? 

"  I  tell  you,  you  should  read  your  Bibles,"  broke  in 
a  voice,  like  a  heavy  bell.  The  sentiment  seemed  mat 
a  propos ;  but  the  voice  was  Lionel  Derwent's,  and  it 
continued  speaking  without  the  slightest  tremor  of 
consciousness  that  it  was  producing  a  sensation. 
"  You  are  none  of  you  Christians — not  one."  Der- 
went  was  addressing  Mrs.  Gower ;  but,  in  the  sudden 
silence,  his  remark  seemed  addressed  to  the  entire 
company.  The  remark  did  not  seem  to  offend  any- 
body, coming  from  so  handsome  a  man  with  so  sweet 
a  voice ;  but  there  was  quite  a  little  chorus  of  shocked 
dissent. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  said  Derwent,  gravely,  "  that 
the  Christian  church,  when  it  reorganized  society, 
meant — this  sort  of  thing?"  And  with  a  sweeping 
glance,  that  was  as  definite  as  a  wave  of  the  hand,  but 
not  so  discourteous,  Derwent  indicated  the  table  and 
its  brilliant  occupants.  No  one  seemed  quite  ready  to 
defend  herself,  as  there  manifested ;  as  for  the  men, 
they  sat  all  withdrawn  from  the  fray,  with  the  feeling 
that,  as  they  made  no  religious  pretences,  it  did  not 
concern  them.  Perhaps  Miss  Lenoir's  reply  served 
the  purpose  as  well  as  any  other. 


A   Cultivator  of  Thistles.  179 

"  But  surely,  Mr.  Derwent,  we  are  all  church  mem- 
bers," said  she,  simply. 

"  The  church  itself  is  not  Christian,"  said  he,  as 
simply.  "  I  doubt  if  it  ever  has  been,  since  it  got  es- 
tablished in  Rome,  it  or  its  Eastern  and  Western  suc- 
cessors. The  fact  is,  the  only  two  high  religions  of  the 
world  have  both  rested  on  the  abnegation  of  self  :  the 
Buddhist,  by  quietism  and  annihilation;  the  Chris- 
tian, by  action  and  sacrifice.  But  the  Jews  and  Ma- 
hometans founded  their  ethics  upon  the  development 
of  self,  upon  visible  rewards,  slaves  and  flocks  and 
herds,  personal  aggrandizement  ;  and  these  things 
they  obtained  by  wars  of  conquest,  by  the  church 
militant,  as  rewards  of  the  holy  zeal  that  made  con- 
verts by  physical  victory.  Then  Christ  came ;  and 
it  was  his  only  work  to  remove  this  idea,  to  change 
this  life,  not  as  a  king  of  a  victorious  people,  but  as  a 
vessel  of  divine  spirit.  But  this  one  work  and  faith 
of  Christ,  this  only  thing  that  made  his  teachings 
new,  regenerative  of  the  world,  is  just  alone  what  all 
our  churches,  Protestant  and  Catholic,  unite  in  evad- 
ing, in  dodging,  in  interpreting  away.  The  one  thing 
they  will  not  follow  Christ  in  is  his  unselfishness." 

"  But  we  cannot  all  be  saints  and  martyrs,"  said 
Mrs.  Gower. 

"  If  we  were  all  Christians,  there  would  be  no 
martyrs,"  said  Derwent. 

"  I  think,''  said  Wemyss,  softly,  as  if  he  were  study- 
ing the  painting  of  a  fan,  "  I  think  that  Mr.  Derwent 
is  historically  right.  Such  was  undoubtedly  the  pure 
doctrine,  the  face  of  the  pale  Christ  as  it  first  ap- 


i  So  First  Harvests. 

peared,  palsying  the  hand  of  art  and  civilization,  un- 
nerving the  arm  of  war,  bleaching  life  of  all  color  and 
flower,  whelming  the  sunlight  of  Greece  in  the  pale 
artificial  cloister,  quenching  the  light  of  the  world  in 
an  unsane,  self-wrought  asceticism. 

'  When  for  chant  of  Greeks  the  wail  of  Galileans 
Made  one  whole  world  moan  with  hymns  of  wrath  and  wrong.' 

We  may  know  the  gods  are  but  a  beautiful  fancy ; 
but  it  would  almost  prove  a  devil's  existence,  that 
humanity  had  hardly  found  itself  at  peace  with  itself 
in  a  fair  and  fertile  earth,  fanned  by  sea-winds  and 
warmed  by  summer  suns,  when  some  devil's  instinct 
made  it  fashion  for  itself  a  cruel  fetich,  oppress  its 
brief  mortal  hours  with  nightmares  of  immortal  tor- 
ture, curse  itself  with  grotesque  dreams  of  Calvaries 
and  hells."  And  Mr.  Wemyss  snuffed  at  the  rose-bud 
in  his  hand,  as  a  Catholic  might  sprinkle  holy-water. 
"  But,  my  good  sir,"  answered  Derwent,  and  his 
voice  rang  with  the  disdain  of  the  athlete  for  the 
aesthete,  "  Christ  has  not  taken  from  you  the  flowers 
of  the  field  nor  the  breezes  of  the  sea,  although  his 
curse  be  on  your  factories  and  mints,  your  poison- 
stills  and  money-mills,  your  halls  and  courts  and  pris- 
ons. He  has  given  you  the  soul  of  a  man  for  the  life 
of  a  dog.  Any  pig  may  possess,  an  ape  can  dress  it- 
self in  trinkets  ;  but  only  souls  can  dream,  think,  do, 
be  free.  Assert  your  souls  in  freedom,  not  weight 
them  down  with  things.  Think  you  that  beauty, 
glory,  love,  and  light  come  from  possessing  tangible 
objects  ?  " 


A   Cultivator  of  Thistles.  181 

Caryl  Wemyss  made  no  reply ;  but  raised  a  glass  of 
Yquem  to  his  lips  and  sipped  it  slowly.  The  rest 
were  not  in  it  at  all,  as  Van  Kull  good-naturedly 
whispered  to  Pussie  Duval.  In  his  simple  way,  Kill 
Van  Kull  suspected  that  he  would  some  day  be 
damned ;  but  he  took  it  in  good  part.  John  Havi- 
land  made  answer.  "  You,  too,  think  Christianity  is 
communism  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Not  necessarily  that,"  said  Lionel  Derwent ;  "  and 
much  more  than  that.  The  New  Testament  makes 
no  direct  attack  on  property  but  as  the  root  of  other 
evils.  Property  would  be  harmless,  if  it  did  not  foster 
the  self-idolatry;  this  is  the  true  curse.  Even  that 
poor  cynic,  La  Rochefoucauld,  saw  that  amour-propre 
was  the  principle  on  which  our  social  fabric  rests. 
The  truth  is,  that  the  moment  you  have  counters, 
everybody  makes  getting  counters  all  the  game. 
Now,  the  true  game  is  emulation  of  the  soul,  or,  even, 
of  the  body;  of  the  real  self,  not  the  factitious  one. 
Let  us  have'  healthy  bodies,  brave  men,  heroes,  and 
poets ;  beautiful  women,  kind  hearts,  noble  souls ; 
not  dukedoms  and  visiting-lists,  landed-estates  and 
money-appraisals.  If  diamonds  are  intrinsically  beau- 
tiful, wear  them,  paste  or  real ;  but  do  not  wear  them 
because  they  are  things  difficult  for  the  country  cu- 
rates' daughters  to  get.  But  flowers  are  prettier, 
after  all.  And  even  then,  it  is  the  beauty,  not  the 
trinket,  we  are  right  to  seek.  God  made  a  woman's 
neck  ;  the  devil  made  the  diamonds  upon  it." 

"  It  is  a  far  cry  from  the  New  Testament  to 
woman's  fashions,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton  Hay,  malicious- 


1 82  First  Harvests. 

ly.  Mrs.  Hay  was  a  hunting  woman  and  followed 
the  hounds  ;  and  her  neck  had  frequently  been  praised 
in  the  society  newspapers.  But  Derwent  took  it  in- 
nocently. 

"  True,"  said  he,  simply  ;  "  and  I  say  our  churches 
do  not  dare  to  preach  the  words  of  Christ,  but  awk- 
wardly fashion  them  into  parables  and  symbolisms ; 
in  effect,  they  say,  '  Christ  said  it,  but  did  not  mean 
it.'  The  Roman  church,  too,  enriches  itself ;  but  this 
is  nearer  Christ,  for  she  gives  a  part  away.  But  our 
dissenting  churches  encourage  their  director-deacons 
and  produce-exchange  elders  in  taking  what  they  can 
unto  themselves,  and  even  whitewash  their  methods 
for  ever  so  slight  a  share  of  the  plunder.  But  when 
Christ  made  that  remark  about  a  rich  man,  a  camel, 
and  the  eye  of  a  needle,  he  meant  a  needle's  eye,  and 
not  a  paddock-gate.  And  when  he  said,  '  Sell  that 
thou  hast,  and  give  to  the  poor,'  he  meant  now  and 
here,  not  in  some  future  state  of  civilization,  nor  yet 
by  charitable  devise.  And  when  he  said,  'take  no 
thought  for  the  morrow — for  where  your  treasure  is, 
there  will  your  heart  be  also — and  your  father  know- 
eth  you  have  need  of  these  things,'  he  had  in  mind 
both  the  future  course  of  stocks  and  the  necessity  of 
brown-stone  fronts  and  widows'  life-assurance.  But 
our  churches  imply  to  us,  '  Christ  was  a  good  man  ; 
but  he  was  no  political  economist.  He  did  not  fore- 
see these  things.  Life  has  grown  a  more  complex  art 
than  he  could  comprehend.'  " 

Mrs.  Gower  had  shown  signs  of  rapidly  increasing 
distress  throughout  this  harangue ;  and  now  she  gave 


A    Cultivator  of  TJiistlcs.  183 

the  signal  for  the  women  to  depart.  "  It  is  so  inter- 
esting ! "  whispered  Mrs.  Malgam,  as  she  swept  in 
front  of  Derwent.  "  Do  tell  me  more  about  it  after 
dinner."  Derwent  bowed  ;  and  the  six  men  resumed 
their  seats  ;  Van  Kull  and  Birmingham  talking  horse  ; 
Arthur  and  Wemyss  near  Haviland  and  Derwent. 

"  I  do  not  object  to  your  conclusions,  Mr.  Derwent," 
began  Wemyss,  languidly,  "but  to  your  remedy. 
Christianity  is  so  far  from  being  this,  that  it  is  the 
cause  of  that  decadence  we  both  see.  And  what 
more  natural  than  that  Christianity,  having  destroyed 
civilization,  should  perish,  like  another  Rienzi,  in  the 
conflagration  itself  has  kindled  ?" 

"And  I, "said  Haviland,  impatiently,  "object  not 
to  the  remedy,  but  to  your  conclusion.  That,  I  take 
it,  is  communism.  Now,  communism  is  no  part  of 
Christianity." 

"  Neither,"  said  Derwent,  "  is  property.  Christ, 
from  his  principle  of  non-resistance,  admitted  property 
in  others ;  but  his  own  disciples  were  to  do  without 
it.  There  have  been  two  great  religions — religions  in 
the  true  sense  religion,  transcendental  faiths,  looking 
from  this  world  to  the  next — and  each  was  followed 
by  a  so-called  religion  which  was  really  not  religion, 
but  looked  to  this  world  alone.  Both  the  two  re- 
ligions aimed  at  the  annihilation  of  the  individual ; 
the  Buddhist  by  passive  abnegation,  the  Christian  by 
active  emulation  in  the  doing  of  good  to  others.  The 
one  is  the  negation  of  self  ;  the  other  is  its  apotheosis. 
Therefore,  Christianity  has  naught  to  do  with  prop- 
erty, which  is  the  accentuation  of  self,  by  aggrandize- 


184  First  Harvests. 

ment,  by  appendages.  Christ  recognized  persons,  not 
personages.  Christianity  came  with  a  commercial 
civilization,  and  as  an  antidote  to  it,  after  the  Jewish 
religion,  which  had  asserted  a  divine  recognition  of 
property ;  and  set  up  an  earthly  kingdom,  that  had  to 
do  with  flocks  and  herds  and  landed  estates.  And 
after  Christ  Islam  came,  with  wars  and  conquests. 
So  the  Jews  never  recognized  the  Messiah ;  they 
looked  not  beyond  into  the  next  world." 

"And  as  a  compensation,"  interposed  VVemyss, 
"  they  seem  likely  to  obtain  all  that  there  is  of  this. 
But  we  are  told  that  finally  the  Jews,  too,  shall  be- 
come Christians — which  lends  a  terror  even  to  the 
millennium."  There  was  a  general  laugh  ;  of  which 
Derwent  seemed  to  be  unconscious. 

"  So  the  gospels,"  Derwent  added,  "  recognize  no 
property  save  in  the  soul.  This  is  what  we  are  ad- 
jured to  preserve,  though  we  lose  the  whole  world  be- 
sides. A  man's  truth  and  love,  his  sense  of  goodness 
and  beauty,  his  courage  and  his  pity,  are  his  alone. 
Even  his  body  is  only  his  secondarily,  and  temporar- 
ily ;  his  broad  acres,  his  trees  and  rivers,  are  no  part 
of  him  at  all." 

"  But  it  remains  property — even  if  you  sell  it  all 
and  give  it  to  the  poor,"  said  Haviland. 

"  Not  if  they  give  it  over  again  to  whomsoever 
has  immediate  need,"  answered  Derwent.  "  In  this 
broad  world  there  is  room  for  all ;  and  there  are  fruits 
in  plenty,  ample  food,  and  raiment  always  ready. 
Let  each  one  take  what  he  needs,  and  have  no  fear  of 
getting  no  more  when  these  are  gone.  Why,  the 


A    Cultivator  of  Thistles.  185 

labor  of  all  men  for  some  few  minutes  a  day  will  suf- 
fice to  bring  them  all  things  they  can  need  and  use. 
Property  is  unnecessary.  But  men  are  like  rude  chil- 
dren at  a  public  feast :  each  one  fearing  that  he  shall 
not  get  enough,  they  trample  one  another  forward, 
and  the  foremost  few  lay  hands  upon  it  all." 

"  No  one  of  us  who  thinks,"  said  Haviland,  "  would 
object  to  communism  if  it  were  practicable.  But  I 
must  have  an  overcoat,  or  a  roof,  or  a  horse  ;  is  any- 
one coming  along  who  prefers  my  coat,  my  roof,  to 
his,  or  to  none,  to  take  it  ?  And,  in  the  second  place, 
men  are  not  unselfish  enough  to  work,  even  those  few 
minutes  a  day,  that  all  humanity  may  live." 

"  They  are,  if  they  have  souls,"  said  Derwent. 
"  And  if  not,  we  are  beasts ;  and  let  us  perish  like 
them.  And  as  for  the  first  objection,  it  is  a  trivial 
one,  soon  forgotten  in  practice.  There  will  naturally 
grow  up  an  unwritten  respect  for  one's  personal  be- 
longings ;  so  far  as  it  is  necessary  that  there  should 
be.  If  a  man  needs  a  coat  so  much  as  to  filch  mine, 
it  is  better  he  should  have  it.  Free  men  will  no  more 
stoop  to  take  a  neighbor's  coat,  or  roof,  or  hat,  than  a 
prince  will  steal  a  pocket-handkerchief.  And  as  to 
great  values  like  statues,  paintings,  libraries,  they  are 
for  all  the  world,  and  not  to  be  monopolized  by  a 
vulgar  money-maker.  He  truly  owns  a  picture  who 
enjoys  it ;  not  he  who  buys  it.  The  pleasure  in 
these,  by  divine  law,  is  not  selfish,  not  individual ; 
only  when  a  man  loses  himself  in  the  contemplation 
of  a  beautiful  picture  does  he  really  enjoy  it,  really 
make  it  his  ;  it  is  of  as  little  moment  who  has  the  title 


1 86  First  Harvests. 

to  the  canvas  and  frame,  as  it  is  who  owns  the  wide 
prairies  and  the  mountains  that  the  poet  roams  over. 
So  there  need  be  no  vulgar  property  in  these  things  ; 
and  they  are  all  that  is  worth  enjoying.  As  to  exot- 
ics, and  waste  land,  and  dozens  of  houses,  and  yachts, 
and  palaces,  and  game-preserves — these  are  social 
crimes." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Wemyss,  with  a  well-bred  sneer  in 
his  inflection.  "  You  wish,  like  all  the  rest,  to  abol- 
ish civilization.  All  communists  hate  excellence; 
because  they,  do  not  themselves  excel.  They  say, 
since  we  cannot  all  be  princes,  let  us  all  be  savages." 

"What  they  say,  Mr.  Wemyss,"  cried  Derwent, 
fiercely,  "  is  this  :  Instead  of  the  vulgar  democracy  of 
crass  possession,  let  us  have  the  noble  aristocracy  of 
merit,  mind,  and  soul.  Let  no  man  excel  by  owning 
the  souls  and  bodies,  the  waking  and  the  sleeping, 
the  getting  up  and  the  lying  down  of  his  fellow-men. 
And  this  whether  it  be  done  directly,  by  chattel  slav- 
ery, or  more  secretly  and  dangerously,  by  corporate 
control,  monopoly  of  land,  monopoly  of  that  fateful 
thing  that  men  call  capital.  Money  is  the  devil's 
counters ;  a  treasure  accursed,  thrice  cursed  when 
welded  into  the  ring  of  power,  like  that  fabled  Rhine- 
gold,  which  only  he  may  win  who  for  it  lays  aside  all 
love,  both  human  and  divine.  Let  men  enjoy  the 
light  of  the  earth,  the  noble  teachings  of  art  and  let- 
ters, the  health  of  the  body  and  the  freedom  of  the 
soul ;  but  these  without  the  virus  of  self-appropria- 
tion. It  is  this  that  makes  barbarism  ;  it  is  not  civil- 
ization. Look  at  your  Yankee  money-grubbers  ;  they 


A   Ciiltivator  of  Thistles.  187 

give,  and  greedily,  ten  thousand  dollars  for  a  common 
painting,  which  they  may  ostentatiously  make  their 
own  ;  they  would  hesitate  to  give  a  dollar  for  Dante's 
Divine  Comedy,  if  he  wrote  to-day,  because — of 
course,  they  do  not  care  for  it — and  they  cannot  lock 
it  up  as  theirs  and  bar  it  from  their  fellow-men.  And 
even  if,  as  you  insinuate,  the  future  were  to  be  what 
you  call  barbarism,  the  morning  chase  of  the  free  sav- 
age after  the  wild  creature  on  whom  he  feeds  is  more 
ennobling  than  the  grimy  greed  of  a  stunted  human- 
ity for  these  counters  that  are  worthless  in  themselves. 
I  have  seen  Australia  and  Hawaii,  and  I  have  seen 
Sheffield  and  East  London ;  and  I  say,  better  a  thou- 
sand-fold the  heathen  savagery  than  such  Christian 
civilization  as  are  these." 

"  I  have  hitherto  failed  to  observe,  among  socialists 
or  knights  of  labor,  or  their  wives,"  said  Wemyss, 
dryly,  "  any  newer  or  other  impulse  than  a  rising  de- 
sire for  these  same  counters  that  you  scoff  at,  or  the 
gin  and  brass  jewellery  that  they  may  purchase  with 
them." 

"Ay,"  cried  Lionel  Derwent,  "you  have  seen  little 
yet  but  a  blind,  instinctive  striving  for  the  drugs  and 
poisons  you  have  fed  them  on ;  for  the  treasure  you 
have  kept,  and  welded  to  the  ring  of  tyranny  that 
held  them  down.  So,  when  you  lift  a  stone  from  the 
ground,  or  hurl  the  roof  from  some  long-lived-in  Bas- 
tile  of  humanity,  the  sudden  sunlight  streams  in,  and 
the  prisoners,  poor  insects  that  they  are,  crushed  by  a 
thousand  years  of  oppression,  blinded,  dazzled  by  the 
light  of  heaven,  grope  vainly  and  mechanically  for 


1 88  First  Harvests. 

the  things  of  earth  they  have  been  wonted  to,  and 
which  want  and  custom  and  your  own  example  have 
taught  them,  too,  to  prize.  No,  they  are  not  better 
than  you  are,  yet ;  not  until  their  souls  have  come  to 
life  that  you  so  long  have  robbed  them  of.  But  give 
us  light  and  love,  and  the  word  of  Christ,  and  we  will 
see.  But,  as  I  said  in  the  beginning,  your  priests 
have  tortured  evert  this  to  suit  their  ends." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Derwent,  I  wish  you  success  in  your 
mission.  Civilization  has  got  to  go,  one  way  or  an- 
other ;  and  I  don't  know  that  it  matters  much  which. 
I  confess  that  your  way  strikes  me  as  rather  a  novel 
one.  Most  of  your  radical  friends,  however,  if  what 
you  say  be  their  true  aim,  show  a  singular  predilec- 
tion for  atheism,  free-love,  and  omitting  their  daily 
baths."  With  which  climax  and  a  slight  yawn, 
Wemyss  walked  over  and  joined  the  group  in  the 
other  corner. 

John  Haviland  had  for  a  long  time  been  silent ; 
but  now  he  spoke.  "  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Derwent,"  said 
he,  "  that  I  so  far  agree  with  Mr.  Wemyss  as  to  feel 
that  three  essentials  of  civilization  are  so  bound  up 
together  that  with  leaving  either  one  we  may  lose  the 
rest — I  mean,  my  right  to  my  property,  my  right  to 
my  wife,  and  my  right  to  personal  liberty.  The  same 
radicalism  which,  on  the  one  hand,  sets  up  a  tyranny 
of  majority  government  to  tell  me  what  I  shall  think, 
what  I  shall  eat,  what  I  shall  spend,  is  that  which,  on 
the  other  hand,  tends  to  the  age  of  reason  and  the 
regulation  of  property  out  of  existence,  and  women's 
rights  to  lose  themselves  as  women,  and  absolute  lib- 


A   Cultivator  of  Thistles.  189 

erty  of  divorce.  Property  and  marriage  and  personal 
liberty — they  go  together.  There  is  no  argument  for 
freedom  but  the  inner  light  of  the  mind  ;  none  for 
monogamy  but  that  it  seems  farther  from  the  beasts  ; 
none  for  property  but  that  man  creates  it  for  him- 
self. And  the  age  of  reason,  which  denies  a  divine 
sanction,  will  yet  require  a  divine  sanction  for  all  that 
it  does  not  destroy." 

"  Man  does  not  create  the  air,  nor  the  ocean,  nor 
the  surface  of  the  earth,"  said  Denvent. 

"  No ;  and  man  does  not  hold  the  surface  of  the 
earth  for  himself,  but  for  all  humanity.  Is  it  not  bet- 
ter that  you  should  make  a  garden  of  a  hundred 
acres  than  that  it  should  lie  a  common  waste  ?  You 
hold  it,  not  for  yourself,  but  in  general  trust ;  sooner 
or  later,  if  you  fail  to  make  the  land  bear  fruit  for  all 
of  us,  it  will  be  taken  from  you.  If  you  are  not  a  good 
steward  for  the  people,  you  will,  sooner  or  later,  fail. 
Christ  said  '  Sell  that  thou  hast,  and  give  to  the 
poor ; '  but  is  it  not  doing  the  same  thing  to  keep 
what  I  have,  and  use  it  for  the  poor  ?  " 

Derwent  paused  a  moment ;  and  before  he  could 
reply,  Wemyss  came  back. 

"  Shall  we  join  the  ladies  ?  "  said  he. 

All  the  gentlemen  got  up,  some  hastily  finishing 
their  coffee,  others  taking  a  last  whiff  of  their  cigars. 

"  He  paid  twenty  thousand,"  said  Van  Kull,  hur- 
riedly, to  Birmingham.  "  He  bought  him  for  the 
Duval  stables.5' 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  DAY'S  PLEASURE. 

1RTHUR  awoke  the  next  morning  with  a 
confused  consciousness  of  splendors  and 
regret;  a  mood  which  seemed  superin- 
duced by  some  forgotten  dream.  His  first 
perceptions,  however,  were  of  the  glory  of  the  morn- 
ing and  the  budding,  bursting  season.  The  shade 
had  been  drawn  up  by  a  servant ;  and  from  his  bed  he 
saw  through  the  open  window  mile  after  mile  of  the 
country-side,  and  beyond  it  the  broad,  gay  river,  wear- 
ing, like  a  new  gown,  the  blue  of  early  summer.  What 
nests  of  men  might  be  in  sight  were  lost  in  the  white 
glow  of  blossoms ;  but  the  birds  made  their  presence 
vocal,  singing  in  the  close  boughs  unseen. 

No  man  with  a  trace  of  sap  left  in  him  could  lie 
inert  at  such  a  time ;  and  Arthur  rang  the  bell  and 
asked  the  servant  when  they  might  have  breakfast. 

"  There  is  no  bell,  sir,"  said  he ;  "  the  ladies  mostly 
breakfasts  by  eleven,  and  the  gentlemen  when  they 
like.  Have  you  found  your  things,  sir  ?  " 

As  everything  of  Arthur's  had  been  laid  out  and 
brushed  in  most  attractive  order,  he  had ;  and  he 
dressed  and  sought  the  breakfast-room.  Here  was  no 
one  but  Mrs.  Malgam,  who,  attired  in  a  diaphanous 
material  of  many  folds  and  pale  tea-rose  ribbons,  was 


A  Day  s  Pleasure.  191 

standing  at  the  window  like  a  thing  bereft.  But  as 
Arthur  came  in,  her  face  mantled  with  smiles  that 
could  have  hardly  "  been  much  sweeter  for  the  blush 
between."  "  Oh,  Mr.  Holyoke,  I  am  so  glad  you've 
come,"  said  she.  "  It  is  so  poky,  breakfasting  alone." 

Mrs.  Malgam  sat  down  to  make  the  tea ;  and  Arthur 
sat  down  beside  her.  "  What  pretty  hands  she  has," 
thought  Arthur ;  "  I  never  noticed  them  before."  And 
just  as  he  thought  this,  her  blue  eyes  fixed  his,  look- 
ing suddenly  up  from  the  tea.  "  One  lump  or  two  ?" 
said  she.  "  One,"  said  Arthur,  gravely. 

A  word  should  be  given  to  Baby  Malgam,  as  many 
thought  her  likely  to  be  Flossie  Gower's  rival ;  that  is 
at  some  day,  for  as  yet  our  heroine  still  distanced  her. 
It  is  true,  Flossie  was  a  nobody,  by  birth  ;  so  was  Mrs. 
Malgam ;  but  her  first  husband  had  been  Mr.  Ten 
Eyck.  Flossie  was  rich,  but  so  at  this  time  was  Mrs. 
Malgam ;  Flossie  was  no  longer  young,  while  Baby's 
ivory  skin  still  was  smooth  with  youth  and  pleasure 
and  lack  of  care.  Baby  had  been  poor ;  and  now  she 
had  three  houses  and  four  horses  and  forty  ball-dresses 
and  a  young  and  fashionable  and  careless  husband  and 
an  opera-box,  and  the  grace  and  cachet  of  her  own  to 
properly  adorn  all  these  things — a  grace  which  had 
been  almost  a  trial  to  her  when,  already  conscious  of 
it,  she  had  feared  it  was  to  be  never  used,  but  born  like 
a  blossom  of  the  fields,  to  die  there,  and  not  in  a  china 
vase.  But  now  she  had  her  china  vase,  and  was  happy, 
and  fast  forgetting  the  fields,  and  him  who  had  wan- 
dered with  her  in  them  ;  and  regretted,  not  that  he  was 
dead,  but  that  she  was  growing  stout.  And  it  was  very 


192  First  Harvests. 

coscy  and  charming  for  Arthur  to  be  sitting  with  her 
so  prettily  at  breakfast. 

"  Is  nobody  else  up  ?  "  said  he.  But  he  did  not  say 
it  in  regret ;  and  Caryl  Wemyss  would  not  have  said 
it  at  all,  as  Arthur  thought  with  a  pang  just  afterward. 
Mrs.  Malgam  smiled  a  little,  but  she  said  : 

"  Mr.  Derwent  has  been  up  and  disappeared  long 
since.  Mr.  Haviland  has  gone  to  the  city.  Flossie 
never  appears  until  luncheon.  About  the  rest,  I 
don't  know." 

"  What  are  we  to  do  to-day  ? "  said  he,  by  way  of 
conversation. 

"  Anything  we  like — that  is  Mrs.  Gower's  rule.  I 
fancy  she  and  Mr.  Wemyss  will  take  a  drive  ; ''  and 
she  laughed  a  little  again.  "  Mr.  Van  Ktill  and  Mrs. 
Hay  thought  of  riding.  That  is,  Mr.  Van  Kull  spoke 
of  it  to  Mrs.  Hay;  and  Mrs.  Hay  proposed  it  to  Lord 
Birmingham.  But  I  fancy  his  lordship  will  ride  with 
Kitty  Farnum."  And  again  did  pretty  Mrs.  Malgam 
laugh  a  little. 

"  Are  there  horses  for  all  of  us  ?  "  said  Arthur. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Mrs.  Gower  has  a  way  of  providing  for 
us,  you  see." 

"In  that  case,"  said  Arthur,  "will  not  you  drive 
with  me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Malgam  would  and  did ;  and  a  lovely  drive 
they  had  of  it  in  the  fresh  May  morning,  over  the 
range  of  hills  back  in  the  high  country  behind  the 
Hudson.  Mrs.  Malgam's  conversation  was  most  charm- 
ing, and  instructive,  too,  to  a  young  man ;  it  is  unfor- 
tunate that  so  much  of  its  merit  consisted  in  the  man- 


A  Days  Pleasure.  193 

ner  and  personality  of  its  owner  as  to  be  quite  inca- 
pable of  transcription.  They  talked  of  the  day;  of 
the  place;  of  Mrs.  Gower,  of  Mrs.  Gower's  friends;  of 
love;  a  good  deal  of  himself;  a  little  of  herself;  of 
the  time  for  luncheon  ;  and  of  the  immediate  future. 
This  last  topic  was  called  up  by  Mrs.  Malgam's  asking 
whether  Arthur  was  invited  to  the  coaching  party; 
and  it  turned  out  that  Mrs.  Gower  had  in  immediate 
contemplation  a  drive  in  a  coach-and-four  from  Cat- 
fish-on-the-Hudson  up  to  Lenox.  Lucie  Gower  was 
coming  up  from  town  to  drive  them ;  and  Mrs.  Mai- 
gam,  though  she  had  not  yet  received  her  invitation, 
was  in  hopeful  expectation  of  one.  It  must  be  con- 
fessed that  the  prospect  was  enviable;  and  Arthur 
most  ardently  joined  in  the  wish,  so  kindly  expressed 
by  the  pretty  woman  who  was  his  companion,  that  he 
might  be  one  of  the  party. 

Civilization  has  cruelly  made  up  for  making  our 
luncheon  regular  and  certain  by  depriving  us  often  of 
any  desire  for  it ;  but  one  of  the  brightest  attractions 
of  the  upper  circle  of  humanity,  in  which  our  hero  now 
moved,  is  perhaps  its  return  to  this  primitive  condition. 
It  is  a  pity  that  fresh  air  and  idleness,  cleanliness  and 
exercise,  do  not  necessarily  bring  with  them  health  for 
the  soul ;  but  they  bring  health  for  this  world,  which 
is  already  something.  Arthur  and  the  pretty  woman 
returned  at  two,  impelled  chiefly  by  a  desire  for  food  ; 
and  found  others  of  the  company,  similarly  inspired, 
already  sitting  at  the  table.  Wemyss  alone,  whose 
dyspepsia  seemed  to  be  the  last  relic  of  his  inherited 
puritan  conscience,  was  not  hungry. 


194  First  Harvests. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  we  can  do  for  you,  lovely  Jills, 
this  afternoon,"  said  Flossie.  "  Three  of  our  Jacks 
have  disappeared.  Mr.  Haviland  and  Charlie  Town- 
ley  are  in  town,  and  Mr.  Derwent  has  gone  to  the  Mills 
village.  Pussie,  where's  your  young  man  ?  Your 
acknowledged  one,  I  mean — Jimmy  De  Witt  ?  " 

Miss  Duval  blushed  and  smiled.  "  Mr.  De  Witt  is 
in  town,  I  suppose.  His  address  is  the  Columbian 
Club." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  Flossie,  laughing.  "  Well,  I've 
written  to  him.  Then  there's  Sidney  Sewall  coming 
to  dinner,"  Flossie  went  on,  as  if  she  were  counting 
her  chickens.  Sewall  was  the  famous  editor  of  one  of 
the  great  papers  of  the  day. 

"  He's  awfully  clever,  and  improving  and  all  that," 
continued  the  critical  Mrs.  Malgam ;  "  but  he's  no  good 
in  the  country.  What's  become  of  Mr.  Derwent,  did 
you  say  ?  " 

"  He's  passing  the  day  at  the  Mills  down  in  the 
town,  studying  the  condition  of  the  laboring  classes,  I 
suppose.  He's  always  doing  that  kind  of  thing." 

"  Much  more  likely  he's  found  a  pretty  face  there," 
said  Van  Kull.  "  Those  cranks  are  all  humbugs." 

Miss  Farnum  looked  at  Van  Kull  while  he  spoke, 
and  then  looked  about  as  if  for  someone  to  answer. 
Her  eye  fell  upon  Marion  Lenoir.  And  Miss  Lenoir 
was  magnetized  to  speak. 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  say  so,  Mr.  Van  Kull  ?  "  she  cried. 
"  When  he  talks  so  earnestly,  and  fixes  his  eyes  upon 
you  so,  they  bore  you  through  and  through.  I  could 
fall  in  love  with  a  man  like  that,  I  am  sure." 


A  Day  s  Pleasure.  195 

Miss  Farnum  rose  and  walked  to  the  window. 
"  Yes,  and  he  bores  me  through  and  through,"  Van 
Kull  had  retorted  ;  but  there  was  a  general  noise  of 
rising  and  sliding  back  chairs,  and  no  one  noticed  his 
little  joke.  Jokes  were  rare  with  this  big  fellow  ;  a 
fact  to  which  he  owed  much  of  his  popularity. 

Arthur  stood  at  first  with  Miss  Farnum  for  a  min- 
ute ;  but  she  seemed  unresponsive,  and  he  was  soon 
swept  out  in  the  wake  of  Mrs.  Wilton  Hay.  The 
broad  terrace  was  bathed  in  the  pleasant  May  sun- 
light ;  but  over  the  end  opposite  the  house  was  an  awn- 
ing slanted  down  to  the  stone  balustrade.  The  great 
river  lay  still ;  far  to  the  south,  where  the  light  blue 
vanished  in  the  gleaming,  was  a  solitary  sail. 

The  air  was  full  of  the  singing  of  birds  and  the  fra- 
grance of  spring  blossoms  ;  it  was  like  a  scene  from 
Boccaccio,  thought  Arthur,  the  stone  terrace  and  the 
flowers,  and  the  distant  view.  Caryl  Wemyss  seemed 
to  have  like  thoughts.  "  If  life  were  only  this,  how 
simple  it  would  be  !  "  said  he.  But  even  this  speech 
was  too  analytical  for  the  company  in  its  present  mood. 

"  It  only  rests  with  us  to  make  it  so,"  he  added,  as 
if  expecting  an  answer. 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Hay.  And 
she  did  not.  Wemyss  smiled  bitterly,  or  smiled  as  if 
he  meant  it  so.  Flossie  laughed.  Lord  Birmingham 
came  up  and  leaned  over  Mrs.  Hay's  chair;  then  Van 
Kull  came  up  on  the  other  side,  and  Arthur  had  to  go 
over  to  Miss  Farnum,  who  was  standing  alone,  look- 
ing over  the  parapet  into  the  deep  gorge  in  the  forest, 
that  led  down  toward  the  river.  Mrs.  Malgam  and 


196  First  Harvests. 

the  other  two  girls  were  laughing  together,  standing 
at  the  other  end  of  the  terrace.  Miss  Farnum  seemed 
to  Arthur  more  blastc  than  any  girl  he  knew. 

"  Why  does  your  friend  Mr.  Haviland  come  here 
so  much  ?  "  asked  she,  suddenly.  Now,  Arthur  could 
certainly  give  no  answer  to  this.  And  he  remembered 
his  first  discovery  of  John's  secret,  as  he  had  thought. 

"  It  is  a  delightful  house  to  visit,"  said  he.  "  Did 
you  have  a  pleasant  ride  this  morning  ?  "  And  he  re- 
membered the  scene  in  the  opera-box. 

"I  hate  Englishmen  and  foreigners,"  said  she,  in- 
consequently ;  and  just  then  Birmingham  came  up. 
"  Lovely  day,  Miss  Farnum,"  said  he.  "  Ah,  would 
you  not  like  a  bit  of  a  walk  ?  The  park,  down  there, 
looks  most  inviting." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  she,  listlessly.  "  What  are 
the  others  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  They're  playing  tennis,  I  dare  say,  or  something 
like,"  said  he.  "  I  got  off,  you  know." 

Miss  Farnum  turned  toward  the  house ;  and  just 
then  the  others  joined  them.  "  You  play,  Mr.  Holy- 
oke,  I  know,"  said  Marion  Lenoir,  "  and  Mr.  Van 
Kull  is  such  a  dab  at  it."  Van  Kull  looked  anything 
but  a  dab  at  it,  but  rather  an  oddly  sophisticated  lamb 
being  led  to  the  slaughter ;  but  then  Miss  Lenoir 
was,  as  she  expressed  it,  "  a  tennis  girl."  And  cer- 
tainly she  looked  it,  when  Arthur  met  her  on  the 
lawn,  her  lithe  young  figure  robed  in  a  blue  and  white 
tennis  dress,  her  black  hair  shining  in  a  tight  coil. 

"  Fie,  what  would  Jimmy  say  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Gower 
to  Miss  Duval  as  they  passed  her.  "  Jimmy  may  say 


A  Days  Pleasure.  197 

what  he  pleases,"  said  that  young  woman,  with  a 
shrug  of  her  shoulders. 

They  had  played  several  sets,  and  Miss  Lenoir  so 
well  that  she  and  Arthur  had  won  most  of  them, 
when  there  was  a  ripple  of  excitement  among  the  two 
married  women,  who  had  been  sitting  on  a  shady 
bench  watching  the  game.  Mrs.  Gower  had  disap- 
peared ;  Mr.  Wemyss  had  sauntered  up  from  time  to 
time,  to  say  a  word  and  disappear  again.  "  I  do  be- 
lieve it's  the  men  come  back  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Hay,  as  a 
carriage  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  house. 

The  game  came  to  an  end ;  and  Arthur  walked 
back  with  his  partner  to  the  terrace.  Charlie  Town- 
ley  was  there,  and  a  middle-aged  man  who  was  Mr. 
Sewall,  as  Miss  Lenoir  told  him  ;  and  a  stout  man 
with  a  red  face,  who  bore  a  little  clumsily  his  intro- 
duction to  Mrs.  Hay,  and  then  turned  with  a  "  Well, 
old  fellow — what  do  you  know  ?  "  to  Kill  Van  Kull. 
It  was  our  old  friend  S.  Howland  Starbuck.  He  had 
changed  more  than  Van  Kull,  and  seemed  ten  years 
older,  with  a  bloated  look  in  his  face.  Van  Kull,  as 
he  stood  there  in  his  light  scarlet  tennis-jacket  and 
white  flannels,  was  still  a  model  of  manly  strength, 
with  features  pale  and  clear-cut,  and  a  look  of  race 
about  him.  Probably  he  had  led  a  far  worse  life  than 
simple  Buck  Starbuck,  as  they  still  called  him ;  but 
Van  Kull's  beauty  deathless,  like  a  fallen  angel's. 
"  So  good  of  you  all  to  take  pity  on  us  lone  women," 
said  Flossie  Gower,  as  she  approached  with  Mr. 
Wemyss.  "  Mr.  Sewall,  thanks  for  leaving  the  ad- 
ministration so  long  unwatched.  How  are  you,  Si  ? 


198  First  Harvests. 

Tell  us  what  to  do,  Mr.  Townley.  Shall  we  take  a 
sail?" 

"  A  sail  would  be  delightful,  I  think,"  said  Sewall, 
affably.  "  Mrs.  Hay,  I  hope  you  got  safely  home  the 
other  night  ?  Lord  Birmingham,  I  am  very  glad  to 
meet  you;  I  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  your  father, 
the  late  Earl." 

"  Come,  young  women  !  "  cried  Flossie,  "  run  and 
get  your  things  on.  I've  ordered  the  lunch  to  be 
ready  at  five." 

Arthur  was  much  impressed  at  the  prospect  of  go- 
ing on  a  pleasure -jaunt  with  so  great  a  man  as  Sidney 
Sewall.  He  was  one  of  those  who  really  seem  to 
shape  the  fortunes  of  the  country ;  his  newspaper  was 
a  political  power  throughout  the  land,  and  he  made 
and  unmade  candidates  at  will.  People  of  wealth 
and  fashion  were  getting  familiar  to  our  hero;  but 
the  companionship  of  men  of  power  was  a  social  sum-, 
mit  he  had  never  yet  climbed.  Flossie  Gower  liked 
to  get  such  men  about  her,  as  a  child  plays  with  chess- 
men. 

There  was  a  break  to  take  them  to  the  river ;  but 
most  of  the  company  preferred  to  walk.  Mrs.  Gower 
led  the  way  with  Mr.  Sewall,  and  Arthur  was  close 
behind  with  Marion  Lenoir.  He  was  struck  with  the 
elaborate  air  of  pleasure-seeking  that  Mr.  Sewall  as- 
sumed ;  he  made  himself  a  perfect  squire  of  dames, 
for  the  nonce,  and  his  talk  was  of  other  people  and 
their  misdoings.  As  they  turned  from  the  lower  foot- 
path-gate of  Mrs.  Gower's  place  into  the  main  road, 
they  met  Derwent,  striding  homeward  in  his  knicker- 


A  Days  Pleasure.  199 

bockers ;  and  Flossie  introduced  him  to  Mr.  Sewall. 
Then  they  all  went  on  and  soon  came  to  the  river, 
where  the  Gowers'  pretty  little  steam-yacht  lay  at  a 
private  wharf.  Derwent  was  full  of  his  day  at  the 
Mills ;  and  began  talking  of  it  to  the  great  editor. 
"  They  are  nearly  all  French  Canadians,"  said  he, 
"  not  Americans  at  all ;  and  their  wages  are  quite  as 
low,  except  the  few  skilled  workmen  and  foremen, 
as  at  Manchester." 

"  They  were  even  lower  last  year,"  said  Sewall, 
"  at  the  time  of  the  worst  depression.  The  mill  has 
really  no  reason  for  being,  except  the  tariff ;  and,  of 
course,  in  the  bad  years  the  laborers  are  ten  times 
worse  off  than  if  there  were  no  tariff  at  all.  But  it 
attracts  Canadian  cheap  labor ;  and  our  ignorant 
workmen  think  they  are  being  protected  all  the  same." 

"  Surely,  you  would  not  abolish  the  tariff  and  wipe 
out  the  mill  entirely  ?"  said  Wemyss,  who  had  taken 
a  seat  close  by.  Sewall  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He 
was  the  editor  of  a  great  protectionist  newspaper. 
"  There  is  no  use  riding  against  a  herd  of  cattle,"  said 
he.  "  If  you  want  to  lead  them,  you  must  ride  their 
way."  Arthur  opened  his  eyes  at  this,  for  Sewall's 
paper  declared  itself  the  great  representative  of  the 
laboring  classes  ;  but  he  soon  found  that  "  cattle  " 
was  a  milder  term  than  the  popular  editor  usually  ap- 
plied to  his  constituency.  "  The  secret  of  statesman- 
ship," he  went  on,  "  in  representative  government,  is 
to  do  nothing  yourself  until  driven  to  it  by  the  rabble, 
and  in  the  meantime  make  capital  out  of  the  other 
fellow's  mistakes." 


2OO  First  Harvests. 

"  Ay,"  said  Denvent ;  "  but  it  is  not  the  people, 
but  the  selfish  middle  class  that  rules  as  yet.  An- 
archy, even  tyranny,  may  be  the  mother  of  men,  of 
high  thought  and  noble  deeds ;  but  the  lights  of  the 
Manchester  school  are  matter  and  greed,  dry  bones 
and  death." 

Sewall  looked  at  him  quizzically.  "  Oh,  dear," 
said  he,  good-naturedly,  "  here's  another  terrible  fel- 
low who  believes  something  ! " 

"But,"  hazarded  Arthur,  with  a  blush,  "will  not 
representatives  do  something,  and  think  something, 
when  we  make  our  politics  something  more  than  a 
game  for  party  stakes  ?  " 

"  Young  man,"  said  Sewall,  impressively,  "  this 
country  cannot  be  governed  without  parties  and  or- 
ganizations. And  if  the  organizers  are  not  paid  for 
their  trouble,  they  wont  organize.  I've  never  known 
a  man  with  a  principle  that  was  worth  his  salt  in 
politics  yet ;  how  can  you  expect  parties  to  have 
them  ?  This  great  country  of  ours  is  on  the  make, 
just  now ;  and  it  doesn't  trouble  itself  about  much 
else."  And  Mr.  Sewall  suddenly  dropped  his  profes- 
sional tone  and,  turning  to  Mrs.  Gower,  resumed  his 
air  of  an  homme  du  monde.  "  Lovely  country,  after 
all,  is  it  not,  Mrs.  Gower  ?  Look  at  that  purple  twi- 
light stealing  in  under  the  western  mountains ;  I've 
just  got  a  Daubigny  with  exactly  that  feeling  in  it. 
Only  Frenchmen  can  paint  in  the  half  lights,  the 
minor  tones,  after  all." 

Mrs.  Gower  still  patronized  art,  though  she  succes- 
sively had  given  over  most  of  her  special  protections 


A  Days  Pleasure.  201 

for  the  patronage  of  human  life  in  general ;  but  Sew- 
all  was  an  amateur,  and  was  famed  for  his  galleries, 
his  cellars,  and  his  orchids.  Derwent  looked  at  him 
from  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  but  kept  silent ;  mean- 
time Kill  Van  Kull,  Si  Starbuck,  and  Marion  Lenoir, 
sitting  forward,  had  brought  out  their  banjos  and 
struck  up  a  Southern  melody,  very  soft  and  sweet. 
"  What  a  pity  we  have  no  folk-songs,"  said  Wemyss. 
"  Great  art  is,  after  all,  impossible  without  the  nurs- 
ery songs  and  tales  of  many  generations,  without  the 
legends  and  delusions  of  the  people." 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  need  the  people  for  some- 
thing," said  Derwent,  dryly. 

"  But  they  have  self-educated  it  away,"  said 
Wemyss.  "  They  have  driven  beauty  out  of  the 
•world  with  the  three  Rs ;  and  now  they  are  about 
to  cut  one  another's  throats  for  its  mere  goods  and 
raw  material." 

"  True,"  said  Derwent.  "  But  is  it  they  that  have 
done  it  ?  or  we  that  have  taught  them  ?  " 

"  Speaking  of  the  people,''  laughed  Flossie,  "  there 
they  are."  And  she  pointed  to  an  excursion-boat  com- 
ing up  the  river ;  it  was  filled  with  a  holiday  party — 
clerks,  upper  mechanics,  small  tradesmen,  and  their 
womankind.  The  latter  were  resplendently  dressed 
in  new  bonnets  and  bright  shawls;  the  husbands 
looked  dingy  and  jaded.  Wemyss  took  out  his  opera- 
glass  and  scanned  the  decks  for  a  minute  or  more, 
then  laid  it  down  wearily  as  if  exhausted.  "  I  have 
no  doubt  they  are  most  of  them  virtuous,"  said  he. 
"  But  they  all  wear  glass  diamonds  in  their  ears." 


2Q2  First  Harvests. 

"  Nay,"  said  Sewall,  without  cynicism,  but  as  if 
merely  stating  an  obvious  fact.  "  There  are  the  peo- 
ple." And  he  pointed  to  a  huge  three-decked  barge, 
coming  slowly  down  stream  before  two  tugs.  It  was 
covered  with  long  streamers ;  the  largest  bearing,  in 
flaring  white  letters,  "  The  P.  J.  McGarragle  Associa- 
tion ;  "  and  on  smaller  ones,  "  6th  Ward."  All  the 
decks  were  black  with  people  ;  and  all  the  people  were 
waltzing  to  the  loud  rhythm  of  several  brass  bands. 
A  few  dozen  of  the  younger  men  on  the  lower  deck 
yelled  at  the  little  launch  as  it  went  by ;  they  were 
tipsily  singing  an  obscene  song.  "  Mr.  McGarragle 
has  just  been  elected  to  Congress  ;  and  he  is  giving  a 
free  picnic  to  all  his  supporters  in  his  district." 

"  You  were  one  of  his  supporters,  Mr.  Sewall,  I  be- 
lieve ?  "  said  Derwent,  calmly.  "  But  you  are  both 
wrong.  These  are  the  American  people,  if  I  under- 
stand them  right."  And  he  pointed  to  the  night  boat. 
The  upper  decks  were  crowded  with  men,  intent  on 
their  newspapers,  regardless  of  all  else — business-men 
returning  to  Chicago  or  the  great  lakes.  And  in  the 
bow  and  main  deck  were  groups  of  emigrants  bound 
for  the  prairies  ;  ploughs,  sewing-machines,  and  bales 
of  Eastern  goods.  This  great  steamer  swept  by  them 
with  a  certain  majesty ;  and  Mrs.  Gower's  little  yacht 
lay  for  some  seconds,  rolling  and  tossing  in  its  wake. 

It  was  after  seven  o'clock  when  they  got  back  from 
the  sail ;  and  all  the  ladies  hurried  into  the  break,  lest 
they  should  lose  that  calm  leisure  before  dinner  which 
a  perfect  toilet  demands.  Mr.  Sewall  and  Lord  Bir- 


A  Days  Pleasure.  203 

mingham  and  Caryl  Wemyss  were  further  specially 
honored  with  seats  therein ;  the  others  walked,  Town- 
ley  with  Van  Kull  and  Starbuck,  Arthur  with  Lionel 
Denvent.  "What  a  different  man  is  Sewall  from 
what  one  would  suppose,"  said  Arthur. 

"  Sidney  Sewall  is  the  most  guilty  criminal  in 
America,''  said  Derwent,  vehemently.  Arthur  started 
a  little  at  so  superlative  a  characterization ;  which 
Derwent  went  on  to  explain.  "  There  is  a  man  with 
all  the  birthright  of  light ;  with  the  inherited  instinct 
of  truth,  the  training  of  character,  the  charm  of  breed- 
ing ;  with  power  of  intellect  and  cultivation  of  the 
finest  that  your  country  gives ;  and  if  there  is  a  malig- 
nant lie  to  be  disseminated,  a  class  hatred  to  bestirred 
up,  a  cruel  delusion  to  be  spread,  a  poisonous  virus  of 
any  subtler  sort  ready  to  be  instilled  into  the  body 
public  and  politic — there  stands  Sidney  Sewall,  of  all 
men,  ready  and  willing  to  do  the  devil's  work.  And 
he  does  it  with  the  genius  of  a  Lucifer;  and  all  to  get 
his  personal  luxury,  and  his  orchids  and  his  wines,  and 
a  little  power,  and  revenge  for  personal  spites.  Meph- 
istopheles  himself  was  not  so  quick  at  seeing  the 
evil  side  of  any  human  error,  the  wrong  that  may  be 
wrought  from  any  chance  event.  And  yet  it  does  not 
even  pay ;  or  pay  any  more  than  if  he  chose  the  good 
and  served  it  with  half  that  intellect  of  his  that  now 
seeks  to  sap  his  country's  soul ! " 

Poor  Arthur  had  not  thought  to  reap  such  a  whirl- 
wind with  his  little  conversational  seed,  and  stood 
aghast. 

"  And  he  doesn't  really  care  for  money  either ;  he 


204  First  Harvests. 

knows  its  worthlessness,  deep  down,  as  well  as  I  do. 
And  he  hasn't  even,  or  he  says  he  hasn't,  the  devil's 
motive  of  ambition  to  make  a  reason  for  his  wrong. 
And  he's  married  a  rich  woman,  like  any  common  ad- 
venturer. I  tell  you  I  have  spent  years  in  this  coun- 
try of  yours  ;  and  the  people  have  a  heart,  and  a  soul, 
and  in  their  clumsy  way  they  blunder  ahead  upon  the 
right.  But  Sewall !  He  has  no  heart,  nor  soul,  but 
only  stomach  and  cerebral  matter,  like  a  jelly-fish.  In 
his  intellectual  Frankenstein  way,  when  fresh  from 
his  Ohio  farm,  he  was  once  a  communist ;  just  as  he 
might  be  to-morrow  a  dynamiter.  But  if  to-morrow 
there  comes  to  the  polls  a  well-meaning,  honest  man, 
and  against  him  a  very  figurehead  of  that  greed  and 
cynical  materialism  which  bids  fair  to  blast  your 
country  in  its  bud,  this  man  will  hasten  to  bid  the 
people  to  choose  Barabbas,  that  Cain  and  Abel's 
strife  may  be  on  earth  once  more." 

By  this  time  they  were  walking  up  the  avenue  to 
the  house,  and  on  the  terrace  they  met  their  hostess, 
already  dressed  and  waiting  for  them.  "All,  you 
philosophers ! "  said  she.  "  You  must  make  haste. 
By  the  way,  you  know  I  count  upon  you,  Mr.  Holy- 
oke,  for  our  coaching  party !  Mr.  Derwent  has  al- 
ready promised."  Arthur  was,  of  course,  delighted. 

"  I  am  so  glad "  he  began. 

"There,  there,"  said  she,  "you  must  run  and  dress 
or  you  will  be  late  to  dinner.  And  Mr.  Sewall  is 
very  particular  about  his  dinners,  I  know." 

After  Derwent's  outburst,  Arthur  went  in  to  his 
dinner  with  some  trepidation ;  but  Derwent  had  too 


A  Days  Pleasure.  205 

often  dined  and  lodged  with  Arab  chieftains,  or  other 
persons  who  had  designs  upon  his  life  the  next  morn- 
ing, to  show  his  personal  feelings  in  his  demeanor. 
Arthur  took  in  Miss  Duval  ;  and  she  asked  him  if  he 
had  been  invited  on  the  coaching  party.  She  was  go- 
ing, and  Mrs.  Hay,  and  Kitty  Farnum.  Mrs.  Malgam 
had  not  been  asked,  after  all.  "  She  is  perfectly  furi- 
ous," said  Pussie  ;  "  and  wanted  to  go  home  to-night." 
And  Arthur  himself  felt  a  slight  pang  at  the  absence 
of  his  fair  companion,  such  a  mitigated  pang  as  one 
must  feel  at  the  exclusion  of  others  from  a  paradise 
open  to  one's  self. 

"  What  men  are  going  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  Lord  Birmingham,  and  Mr.  Wemyss,  and 
Mr.  Van  Kull— and— and  Mr. " 

"  Derwent,"  said  Arthur.     "  I  know." 

"  Mr.  Derwent  ?  dear  me,"  said  Miss  Duval.  "  I 
wonder  what  he's  going  for  !  " 

"  But  where's  Mr.  Gower  ?  "  asked  Arthur. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  she.  "  He  can't  come,  I  be- 
lieve. Kill  Van  Kull  is  going  to  drive." 

"  You  can't  fancy  what  terrible  things  Mr.  Derwent 
has  been  telling  us,  Mr.  Sewall.  We  quite  needed 
you  last  night.  He  has  been  saying  we  are  none  of 
us  Christians."  It  was  Mrs.  Malgam  who  spoke. 

"  We  are  not,"  said  Sewall.  "  Christianity  is  a  very 
fine  thing ;  but,  like  many  another,  quite  too  fine  for 
this  world.  If  people  could  practise  it,  there  would 
be  no  need  of  it ;  it  would  be  heaven  here  and  now, 
and  a  divine  revelation  quite  superfluous." 

"  And  are  you  really  going  to  drive,  Mr.  Van  Kull  ?  " 


206  First  Harvests. 

said  Mrs.  Hay.  "  You  are  such  a  dangerous  man,  I 
shall  not  trust  myself  with  you — on  the  box  seat." 
And  she  cast  down  her  eyes,  while  Van  Kull  gave  her 
one  of  the  dark  glances  that  made  his  pale  face  so 
famous. 

"  Would  you  confess  as  much  in  your  paper,  Mr. 
Sewall  ?  "  said  Derwent,  in  answer  to  his  speech. 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  great  editor.  "  You 
know  the  natural  failing  of  the  middle  classes  is  hy- 
pocrisy ;  and  we  still  have  a  large  constituency  with 
them.  They  like  to  think  they  are  Christians,  while 
they  make  their  money;  just  as  they  like  to  have  full 
reports  of  divorce  cases,  and  call  it  news." 

"  Hypocrisy,  in  the  end,  is  of  all  vices  the  one  least 
suffered  by  gods  and  men,''  said  Derwent. 

"  Quite  so  ;  and  sooner  or  later  the  people  will  arise 
and  wipe  out  the  middle  class  in  this  country,  and 
leave  nothing  between  them  and  us,"  said  Sewall, 
placidly.  "  That  is  why  I  am  anxious  to  have  my 
paper  appeal  more  and  more  to  the  masses." 

"  But  when  that  day  comes,  we — that  is,  the  peo- 
ple— will  destroy  you,  too,"  said  Derwent. 

Sewall  looked  again  at  Derwent,  with  his  expres- 
sion of  polite  curiosity,  as  at  a  misplaced  mummy. 
"  Our  grandchildren,  you  mean,"  said  he.  "  I  haven't 
any." 

"All  thinking  men  are  agreed  as  to  the  coming  de- 
clieance"  put  in  Wemyss.  "  They  only  differ  as  to 
the  feelings  with  which  they  regard  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Sewall,  in  a  tone  of  finality,  "  we  can 
get  a  good  time  out  of  this  world  as  it  is ;  those  to 


A  Days  Pleasure.  207 

come  may  amuse  themselves  as  they  like.  What  do 
you  think,  Mrs.  Gower?" 

"  I  think  you  are  all  pessimists,"  said  she.  "  Surely 
we  live  in  a  most  enlightened  age  ;  consider  the  prog- 
ress that  has  been  made  in  a  few  years !  Why,  in 
my  grandfather's  old  house  they  hadn't  even  carpets. 
Now  the  very  poorest  can  have  everything." 

"  Everybody  has  a  chance  to  make  money  now," 
said  Baby  Malgam.  "  Just  think  how  many  self-made 
men  you  meet  in  society  !  " 

"  You  wouldn't  have  us  go  back  to  those  days, 
surely,"  said  Flossie.  "  Just  think  how  narrow  peo- 
ple were !  And  everybody  thought  almost  every- 
body else  was  going  to  be  damned.  But  we  are 
growing  more  liberal  every  day. 

"  Ay,"  grunted  Derwent.  "  We  are  above  the  rev- 
elation of  Christ ;  but  our  clever  women  talk  glibly 
of  theosophy,  and  go  into  fashionable  crazes  over  im- 
ported Buddhist  priests;  and  nobody  is  afraid  of  being 
damned." 

"  What  is  theosophy,  Mr.  Derwent  ?  "  said  Marion 
Lenoir.  "  Something  to  do  with  spirit-rapping,  isn't 
it  ? — or  palmistry  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Malgam,  "  I  was  always 
brought  up  to  go  to  church ;  but  when  I  was  first  mar- 
ried, Mr.  Ten  Eyck  didn't  care  for  it." 

"  The  only  advantage  should  be,  that  the  general 
smash  gives  us  at  least  a  chance  at  personal  liberty. 
But  most  of  these  fads  start  in  my  place ;  and  in 
Boston  the  masses  are  more  philistine  than  almost 
anywhere,"  said  Caryl  Wemyss. 


208  First  Harvests. 

"  There  is  some  strength  in  Philistinism,"  said 
Sewall,  curtly.  "  What  I  can't  stand  is  the  critical 
crowd,  the  cousins  of  the  nephews  of  the  friends 
of  Emerson,  who  now  talk  sagely  of  the  fine  art  of 
their  boarding-house  literature,  of  the  tea-table  real- 
ism school — what  Poe  called,  the  Frog-pond  weakly 
school.  They  are  too  delicate  to  take  life  straight,  at 
most  they  can  only  stomach  a  criticism  of  a  critique 
of  humanity,  as  we  give  babies  peptonized  prepara- 
tions of  refined  oatmeal.  Their  last  fad  is  pure  gov- 
ernment. Pure  government ! "  repeated  Sewall,  with 
a  snort  of  disgust. 

"  It  is  the  literature  of  the  decadence,  of  course," 
said  Wemyss  ;  "  an  emasculated  type,  product  of  short- 
haired  women  and  long-haired  men,  gynanders  and 
androgynes.  I  have  often  myself  thought  of  writ- 
ing another  novel — if  only  for  the  sake  of  putting 
a  great,  horrid  man  into  it.  But  gentlemen  should 
all  the  more  have  courage  to  reassert  their  essence. 
It  is  an  age,  after  all,  when  one  may  lead  a  full 
life.  There  is  a  fine  passage  somewhere  in  Zola, 
where  the  lips  of  two  lovers  are  unsealed  at  the  ap- 
proach of  death.  So  we,  on  the  eve  of  the  destruc- 
tion of  society,  are  free  to  live  our  lives  elementally; 
enforced  to  idleness,  like  patricians  in  the  fall  of 
Rome." 

"  Mr.  Wemyss,  do  you  know  my  definition  of  a 
Boston  man  ?"  cried  Sewall,  who  had  had  an  evident 
struggle  to  repress  himself  during  this  speech. 

"  No,"  said  Wemyss,  respectfully  sipping  a  glass  of 
Yquem. 


A  Days  Pleasure.  209 

"  An  Essay  at  Life,"  said  Sewall,  hurling  the  words 
at  Wemyss  like  a  missile. 

There  was  a  certain  pause  and  then  Derwent  was 
heard  softly  quoting  Dante's  "  gran  rifiuto." 

"  So  there  is  nothing  for  us,  you  both  think,  but  to 
make  '  the  grand  refusal,' "  said  he,  sadly.  "  To  take 
no  office  in  our  human  life,  but  wait  for  death  ;  amus- 
ing ourselves  as  best  we  may." 

After  which,  Lord  Birmingham  was  heard  saying 
to  Miss  Farnum,  "  I  should  so  like  to  show  you 
Noakes  Park." 

"  No,"  said  Sewall,  taking  up  the  thread  of  the  con- 
versation again,  "  what's  the  use  of  breaking  lances  on 
windmills  ?  The  simple  fact  is,  that  everybody  wants 
about  a  hundred  times  his  individual  proportion  of 
the  world's  labor ;  and  some  few  fellows  have  got  to 
have  it,  and  the  other  ninety-nine  be  deprived  of  that 
little  which  they  have.  Therefore  the  more  toys 
we  give  the  rabble  to  play  with  the  better.  When 
they  find  them  out,  they'll  break  the  toys  and  our 
heads  with  them." 

"  I'm  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Malgam,  "  I  don't  see  what 
there  is  so  very  terrible.  I  like  real  lace  shawls  ;  but 
my  Irish  servants  prefer  red  and  green  ones.  And 
what  would  be  the  use  of  taking  a  scrub-woman  to 
the  opera  ?  She  wouldn't  understand  it." 

"  It's  astonishing  how  soon  those  same  scrub-wo- 
men catch  on,"  said  Charlie  Townley,  who  sat  next. 
"  I  see  two  or  three  at  the  opera  every  night." 

Derwent  muttered  something  about  the  lust  of  the 
eyes  and  the  pride  of  life;  and  Mrs.  Gower  said 
14 


2io  First  Harvests. 

there  was  one  in  the  box  next  her.  "  She  has  red 
arms  and  diamonds  as  big  as  a  hotel-clerk's,"  said  she, 
with  a  fine  scorn.  "  But  of  course  there  must  always 
be  such  people  trying  to  get  in." 

"  Kehew  entered  her ;  but  she  was  scratched  for 
the  Derby,"  said  Van  Kull  to  Si  Starbuck,  who  was 
on  the  other  side  of  Mrs.  Wilton  Hay.  "  De  Mora 
told  me  she  was  safe  for  the  Grand  Prix." 

"  Kehew  ?  why,  that's  the  very  man  who  has  en- 
tered his  wife,  too — at  the  opera,"  laughed  Flossie. 

"  He's  a  great  friend  of  the  Due  de  Mora,"  said  Si 
Starbuck  to  his  sister.  "  I  don't  see  what  there  is 
bad  about  the  old  woman,  and  the  daughter's  capital 
fun." 

"  Kehew's  a  wonderful  man,"  added  Townley. 
"  He  turned  up  from  some  road-hotel  just  out  of 
Chicago,  and  the  next  thing  we  knew  he  put  through 
that  Wabash  deal." 

"  What  a  name,"  sighed  Wemyss — "  Kehew  !  how 
it  expresses  the  sharp,  lean-faced  Yankee  of  the 
day,  who  doses  his  dyspepsia  with  whiskey-cocktails, 
and  bores  you  through  with  his  dull,  soulless  eyes ! 
'  Brainy,'  the  newspapers  call  them,  I  think." 

"  But  they  are  making  the  country,  and  they  make 
the  government,"  said  Sewall.  "  It's  all  very  well  to 
talk  about  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number ; 
but  government  is  going  to  be  run  in  the  interest  of 
the  successful  man,  and  not  for  general  philanthropy." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Lionel  Derwent,  sadly.  "  You  have 
done  a  good  deal,  in  your  country.  You  have  done 
away  with  rank,  and  chivalry  and  the  feudal  system, 


A  Days  Pleasure.  211 

with  established  churches  and  bishops,  priests  and 
deacons — except,  perhaps,  the  Pope  of  Rome.  You 
are  independent  of  authority  and  experience,  and 
enforced  respect — Aristotle's  '  Ethics/  and  Plato's 
'  Republic,'  to  say  nothing  of  Montesquieu  and  de 
Tocqueville,  have  become  '  chestnuts,'  as  your  phrase 
is.  '  You  have  eschewed  a  titled  aristocracy  and  abol- 
ished primogeniture ;  you  elect  all  your  officers,  from 
judges  up  to  President;  your  laws  run  in  the  name  of 
the  people,  instead  of  in  the  name  of  a  prince ;  your 
State  knows  no  religion  and  your  judges  wear  no 
wigs ! ' — and  for  King  Log  you  bow  to  King  Stork  ; 
your  God  Baal  is  money,  and  you  have  lost  individ- 
ual liberty  into  the  bargain." 

Mr.  Sewall  chuckled  to  himself  a  little,  but  said 
nothing,  like  an  Augur  with  a  sense  of  humor ;  the 
collective  individual  liberties  of  the  land  made  power, 
and  power  was  his.  It  was  left  to  Mrs.  Malgam  to 
respond. 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  she,  "  I  think  money  is  very  nice; 
and  those  who  don't  want  it  needn't  get  it." 

"  Money,"  said  Wemyss,  "  gives  us  the  very  indi- 
vidual liberty  Mr.  Derwent  wants." 

"  Money,"  said  Flossie  Gower,  "  is  certainly  neces- 
sary to  get  married  on ;  else  married  people  would 
have  to  be  together  all  the  time." 

"  Oh,"  said  Marion  Lenoir,  "  I  think  love  in  a  cot- 
tage would  be  just  charming.  Do  you  know  I  saw 
such  a  lovely  household  last  winter  in  Florida " 

But  here  Mrs.  Gower  gave  the  signal ;  and  the 
men  were  left  to  their  own  reflections.  Derwent  rose 


212  First  Harvests. 

abruptly,  took  a  cigar,  and  walked  out  the  open  win- 
dow to  the  terrace  above  the  river.  Wemyss  and 
Arthur  followed;  and  the  other  four  were  left  about 
the  dining-table. 

Derwent  was  puffing  his  cigar  violently,  and  did 
not  speak  to  them ;  but  after  a  minute  or  two  he 
took  the  path  leading  down  into  the  valley  and  dis- 
appeared in  the  wood.  Wemyss  and  Arthur  sat 
down  in  one  corner  of  the  terrace  and  lit  their  cigars 
comfortably. 

"  Derwent,"  said  Mr.  Wemyss,  "  is  one  of  those 
fanatics  who  do  more  harm,  from  their  position  and 
education,  than  any  leader  of  the  proletariat.  But 
all  women  rave  about  him ;  for  women  are  all  hero- 
worshippers." 

"  Mrs.  Gower  has  asked  him  to  go  on  the  coach- 
ing-party," said  Arthur,  secretly  flattered  at  being 
thought  by  Wemyss  worthy  of  hearing  that  gentle- 
man's opinion.  He  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  frowned 
obviously.  Pretty  soon  the  others  came  out  and 
joined  them,  and  they  had  cognac  and  coffee  ;  the  la- 
dies, too,  were  out  on  the  terrace,  at  its  other  end,  at- 
tracted by  the  beauty  of  the  night ;  and  gradually  the 
two  groups  came  together  and  intermingled.  But  it 
was  the  man's  hour ;  and  they  made  bold  to  keep 
their  cigars,  even  when,  as  soon  happened,  each  one 
joined  his  fair  one  and  took  to  walking  with  her. 
Wemyss  walked  with  Mrs.  Gower,  Birmingham  with 
Miss  Farnum,  Van  Kull  with  Mrs.  Hay,  Charlie 
Townley  with  Miss  Duval,  and  Mrs.  Malgam  with  Si 
Starbuck. 


A  Days  Pleasure.  213 

Arthur  found  himself  with  Miss  Lenoir.  She  was 
a  pretty  girl,  with  fine  black  hair  and  gray  eyes,  and 
an  ivory-like  complexion  ;  and  her  dress  was  the  per- 
fection of  style  and  enlightened  civilization.  It  was 
the  most  glorious  night ;  a  night  made  for  the  imag- 
inative and  idle,  for  those  who  have  read  the  world's 
literature  and  looked  at  paintings,  and  whose  women 
are  fair  ladies,  bravely  dressed.  The  great  pathway 
of  the  river  lay  open  to  the  dark  sky,  walled  by  ebon 
mountain-masses ;  to  the  east  the  azure  shaded  into 
blue,  where  the  stars  were  sown  less  freely,  tremu- 
lous, luminous  with  the  rising  moon.  The  moon's 
light  was  pleasant,  too,  on  the  figure  of  the  pretty 
girl  beside  him  ;  and  the  others,  as  they  passed  and 
repassed,  seemed  like  the  gay  ladies  of  Boccaccio's 
garden,  and  looked,  each  pair,  as  if  they  had  been 
lovers. 

Down  in  the  factory  village,  too,  the  night  was 
fine ;  perhaps  a  few  old  men,  smoking,  enjoyed  it, 
dumbly,  as  such  people  do.  For  these  do  not  com- 
ment, in  diaries  or  print,  upon  such  things,  nor  ana- 
lyze the  moods  they  bring.  But  most  of  the  women 
who  were  stirring  made  only  a  convenience  of  the 
moonlight,  lighting  the  uncertain  hazards  of  the  dirty 
street ;  and  the  young  men,  smoking  and  drinking, 
were  quite  unconscious  of  it,  for  tobacco  and  whiskey 
had  more  direct  action  upon  their  consciousness,  be- 
sides having  a  money  cost,  which  the  beauty  of  the 
night  had  not.  But  here,  too,  were  some  few  young 
men  wandering  afield  with  young  women,  and  per- 
haps upon  these  the  moonlight  had  its  unconscious 


214  First  Harvests. 

effect.  Up  at  Mrs.  Gower's  the  love-making,  though 
not  inartistically  done,  was  rather  like  a  play  ;  here  it 
was  more  earnest.  Yet,  as  it  seemed  to  Lionel  Der- 
went,  there  was  not  so  much  difference  between  these 
two  places,  laying  aside  mere  dress  and  manner,  as 
there  should  have  been. 

But  to  Arthur,  the  softness  and  good  taste  and 
beauty  of  framing  seemed  inspiration  fit  for  any  poet. 
If  the  evening  was  not  one  of  true  happiness,  it  was 
an  excellent  worldly  counterfeit.  After  Miss  Lenoir 
went  in,  he  stayed  out  alone,  watching  the  river.  The 
other  guests,  successively,  sought  the  drawing-room  ; 
and  soon  he  heard  Mrs.  Hay's  voice,  singing  a  simple 
Scotch  ballad,  and  singing  it  very  well.  Now,  any 
cultivated  foreman's  daughter,  in  the  factory  village, 
would  have  sung  in  bad  Italian,  and  not  sung  well. 

As  Arthur  stood  leaning  over  the  balustrade  in  the 
terrace,  he  heard  low  voices ;  and  looking  down,  he 
recognized,  in  the  moonlight,  Mr.  Caryl  Wemyss  and 
his  hostess.  Their  talk  seemed  to  have  come  to  an 
end  ;  for  as  she  rose,  he  seized  her  white  hand  and  im- 
printed (as  the  dime  novels  say),  with  studied  grace,  a 
kiss  upon  it. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  COACH  AND  FOUR  COUPLES. 

|EVERAL  days  passed  by  in  much  the  same 
way ;  and  truly  a  pleasant  way  enough  it 
was.  Arthur  went  now  and  then  to 
town  ;  but  it  was  easy  to  get  vacations  in 
Townley  &  Tamms's  office,  and  the  inmates  were  mu- 
tually conceding  upon  this  point,  particularly  when 
the  absence  was  known  to  be  connected  with  people 
likely  to  be  valuable,  as  clients,  to  the  firm.  And 
perhaps  Arthur  had  a  secret  notion  that  his  visit  at 
Mrs.  Levison  Gower's  was  an  advancement  more 
speedy  and  notable  than  anything  that  was  likely  to 
come  to  him  in  the  office  while  he  was  away.  For, 
after  all,  in  her  society  he  was  getting  the  ultimate 
result  of  all  labors  and  seeing  what  it  was  that  peo- 
ple realized  when  they  were  successful  here  on  earth. 
Townley  urged  Arthur  strongly  to  avail  himself  of 
Mrs.  Gower's  hospitality  to  its  utmost  limit.  It  was 
a  principle  of  his  philosophy  of  life  that  it  was  the 
part  of  a  clever  man  to  take  things  directly  rather 
than  attain  to  them  gradually;  to  grasp  the  fruits, 
and  not  cultivate  the  tree.  "  Any  country  bumpkin, 
any  ordinary  mechanic,  can  do  that,"  he  would  say. 
"  But  we  in  New  York,  in  Wall  Street,  sit  at  the 


216  First  Harvests. 

counter  on  which  is  poured  the  net  earnings,  the  sav- 
ings, the  symbols  of  title  to  all  the  creations  of  a 
"mighty  nation.  Ten  thousand  men  may  work  to 
build  a  railroad,  for  instance,  and  ten  thousand  more 
to  run  it ;  and  the  clean  result  of  all  their  toil  and 
trouble,  free  of  all  dross  and  surplusage,  is  turned  into 
our  hands,  portable  and  convenient,  in  the  shape  of  a 
few  engraved  certificates  of  stock,  or  bonds,  or  bank- 
notes. Presto !  change  !  and  some  of  them  are  in  my 
pocket,  and  some  in  yours,  and  perhaps  a  new  bit  of 
paper,  issued  by  us  for  the  balance."  Arthur  found 
Charlie  a  much  more  intellectual  fellow  than  he  had 
thought  at  first. 

Guests  came  and  went  at  Mrs.  Gower's,  all  with 
some  charm  of  person,  or  of  fashion,  or  of  successful 
mind  ;  applied  intellect,  not  perhaps  the  pure  kind. 
Arthur  spent  a  few  days  in  town,  to  prepare  for  his 
longer  absence  on  the  coaching  trip  ;  Tamms  was 
moving  down  to  his  summer  quarters  near  Long 
Branch,  and  old  Mr.  Townley  hardly  ever  came  to 
the  office  now.  He  had  a  private  room  upstairs, 
where  he  used  to  spend  some  two  or  three  hours  a 
week,  looking  after  his  trusts.  Charlie  was  neglect- 
ing his  business  more  than  ever,  but  seemed  to  make 
up  for  it  by  his  devotions  to  Mamie  Livingstone, 
which  were  almost  getting,  for  him,  exclusive.  That 
young  lady  was  "  coming  out "  the  next  autumn,  and 
already  making  elaborate  preparations  for  it.  Arthur 
saw  her  when  he  went  to  call  on  Gracie  Holyoke, 
who  was  going,  with  Miss  Brevier,  to  the  old  place  at 
Great  Barrington  for  the  summer. 


A   Coach  and  Four  Couples.          217 

Mrs.  Malgam  had  gone  away,  and  Haviland,  and 
Miss  Lenoir;  and  the  party  had  gradually  settled 
down  to  those  who  were  invited  for  the  drive.  As 
their  numbers  were  narrowed,  a  feeling  of  increased 
intimacy  sprang  up  among  those  who  were  to  go 
through  so  much  together ;  and  they  were  fond  of 
talking  of  it  and  consulting  maps  as  to  roads  and 
stopping-places;  and  they  grew  confidential  about 
outsiders.  "  But  I  thought  Mrs.  Malgam  was  to  go 
with  us,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Hay  one  day  to  Pussie ;  the 
two  women  were  sitting  on  a  new-mown  hay-rick  on 
the  lawn,  that  had  been  cut  for  ornamental  purposes, 
too  soon  to  make  good  hay.  Arthur  was  lying,  with  a 
volume  of  poetry,  at  their  feet. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,"  laughed  innocent  Miss  Duval. 
"  Flossie  and  Baby  never  could  abide  each  other. 
You  must  know  Mrs.  Malgam  is  a  very  dangerous 
person,  for  all  she  looks  like  a  pan  of  cream." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Hay,  compressing  her  rich 
lips.  She  had  recognized  in  Mrs.  Malgam  her  Ameri- 
can counterpart,  and  was  slightly  afraid  of  the  violet- 
eyed  brune,  to  whose  deeper  beauty  her  own  made 
but  a  tinsel  foil. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Pussie.  "You  know  a  man 
shot  himself  for  Mrs.  Malgam,  once,  they  say.  Isn't 
it  exciting  ?  " 

"What,  really?"  put  in  Arthur.  He  had  been 
forgotten  for  the  moment ;  and  Mrs.  Hay  drew  up 
her  red  satin  brodequins  with  a  start.  "  Here  comes 
Mrs.  Gower,"  said  she,  "  suppose  we  ask  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't,"  put  in  Pussie,  rather  frightened  ;  but 


218  First  Harvests. 

Mrs.  Hay  was  not  to  be  repressed.  Flossie  Gowei 
barely  raised  her  eyebrows  at  the  question.  "  There 
was  a  man,  a  Mr.  Vane,  who  shot  himself,"  said  she. 
"  But  it  was  from  overwork,  and  not  for  Baby  Mai- 
gam,  I  suspect.  He  was  nothing  but  a  money-making 
machine." 

It  was  a  glorious  day,  when  it  finally  arrived.  Nat- 
ure seemed,  as  usual,  to  smile  on  Flossie  Gower's 
plans.  The  party  met  at  breakfast,  all  the  women 
radiant  in  the  neatest  of  dresses,  with  the  gayest  of 
coaching  umbrellas ;  Caryl  Wemyss  and  Van  Kull  in 
brown  frock-coats  with  rosebuds  in  their  silk  lapels, 
and  Derwent  and  Birmingham  informally  in  knicker- 
bockers. Breakfast  was  a  longer  meal  than  usual; 
and  the  warm  June  air  came  in  through  the  windows, 
laden  with  roses.  Then  the  crisp  and  rapid  sound  of 
many  horses'  feet  was  heard  upon  the  ground,  and 
they  all  ran  to  the  door  to  inspect  the  coach. 

The  women  ran  away  to  get  ready,  and  the  servants 
were  busy  packing  every  conceivable  kind  of  a  wrap, 
shawl,  waterproof,  mackintosh,  rug,  cloak,  cape,  ulster, 
or  other  similar  garment  yet  devised,  together  with 
various  little  leather  and  silver  travelling-bags,  con- 
tents to  Arthur  as  yet  unknown.  Of  course,  there 
was  no  room  for  real  luggage  in  the  coach  ;  this  went 
behind  in  the  wagonette.  But  the  inside  of  the 
coach  was  quite  choked  up,  as  it  was,  with  some  bales 
of  these  and  similar  trifles ;  so  that  when  any  lady  had 
a  headache  and  had  to  ride  inside  she  had  to  lie 
upon  the  cargo,  the  seats  being  lost  some  two  feet 
beneath  it.  Behind  stood  the  wagonette,  with  four 


A   Coach  and  Four  Couples.         219 

extra  horses,  in  case  of  need,  loaded  with  the  lug- 
gage ;  and  besides  all  this  there  was  an  extra  servant, 
or  postilion,  riding  a  "  cock  horse,"  or  tow-horse,  for 
the  pulls  up-hill. 

At  last  all  was  ready;  on  top  of  all  inside  was 
thrown  a  bundle  of  the  morning's  papers,  which  were 
to  lie  there  unopened  through  many  sunny  days  ;  the 
light  steel  ladder  was  brought  out,  and  Miss  Duval 
and  Kitty  Farnum  were  inducted  with  much  cere- 
mony to  the  highest  seat,  Derwent  and  Lord  Bir- 
mingham their  companions.  Mrs.  Hay  went  behind 
with  Arthur  and  Caryl  Wemyss,  in  front  of  the  pair 
of  servants — an  old  stout  one  and  a  thin  young  one, 
both  well  trussed  up  in  their  plum-colored  broadcloth. 
But  these  were  not  there  yet,  and  only  their  neatly 
folded  coats,  showing  the  two  brass  buttons  with  the 
well-known  crest  of  Levison-Gower,  betokened  their 
future  presence.  Mrs.  Gower  herself  climbed  lightly 
into  the  box-seat,  scorning  a  ladder;  Van  Kull  took 
the  reins  beside  her,  and  with  a  rapid  leap  the  four 
horses  took  the  road.  As  they  passed  out  the  coach- 
man and  groom  came  climbing  up  behind  ;  the  latter 
seized  the  horn,  and  a  long  and  joyous  peal  of  coach- 
ing music  woke  the  echoes  of  the  sleeping  woods  and 
lawn. 

It  seemed  this  gay  fanfare  had  loosed  their  tongues, 
for  at  once  a  clatter  of  laughter  and  merry  voices  be- 
gan. Van  Kull,  the  horses  being  fresh,  was  busied 
with  his  driving;  but  Mrs.  Gower  turned  to  talk 
with  the  four  behind  her,  and  soon  Miss  Duval's  flow 
of  animal  spirits  was  set  off  and  exploded  in  shrieks 


22O  First  Harvests. 

of  shrilly  laughter.  Miss  Farnum,  too,  said  some- 
thing to  make  Birmingham  roar  his  catastrophic  bass 
guffaws,  and  Wemyss  took  up  the  cue  with  Mrs. 
Hay.  Only  the  two  servants  sitting  facing  them 
maintained  the  severe  aspect  which  decorum  of  them 
demanded. 

They  were  already  sweeping  down  the  dewy  ravine 
in  the  forest,  and  in  a  minute  more  had  come  to  the 
gate  of  Mrs.  Gower's  demesne  ;  it  flew  open,  the  por- 
ter bared  his  head,  the  porter's  wife  and  children 
bobbed  up  and  down  behind  him  ;  and  between  the 
armorial  pillars  they  rolled  out  upon  the  common 
road.  A  dusty,  sleepy  road  it  was,  giving  no  hint  of 
its  much  use ;  for,  early  as  it  was  for  them,  the 
people  that  travelled  by  the  highways,  the  morning 
tradesmen's  carts  and  factory  operatives,  had  long 
since  passed  over  it  to  their  daily  station  in  life.  You 
would  be  surprised  if  you  knew  how  busy  this  same 
road  could  be  in  the  hour  or  two  that  followed  sunrise. 
But  now  it  stretched  away  in  silence  through  the 
broad  green  country,  and  its  dust  lay  heaped  in  ridges 
undisturbed.  The  horses  trotted  smartly  down  its 
gentle  slope  ;  and  then,  breaking  into  a  joyous  gallop, 
rushed  them  up  the  other  for  a  mile  or  more.  Here 
was  the  factory  village ;  and  they  swept  through  it 
triumphantly,  but  almost  unseen,  for  all  the  world 
was  now  indoors.  A  few  dogs  barked  ;  a  few  street- 
children,  too  young  to  work  in  the  mills,  cheered 
at  them,  or  jeered,  it  were  hard  to  say  which.  There 
was  a  great  whirring  of  wheels  from  the  mills,  how- 
ever ;  and  the  two  free  leaders  took  fright  at  them, 


A   Coach  and  Four  Couples.         221 

and  almost  broke  away  from  Van  Kull,  who  held 
them  hard,  the  big  veins  swelling  in  his  throat.  The 
coachman  facing  Arthur  leaned  far  out  and  looked 
forward  at  them  anxiously ;  but  no  one  else  minded. 
Such  was  the  exhilaration  of  the  air  and  motion,  they 
might  have  run  away  and  Pussie  Duval  have  but 
sung  her  song  the  louder,  while  the  others  laughed 
the  more.  At  last  Van  Kull  pulled  up  his  smoking 
team  on  the  face  of  a  big  hill,  the  town  a  mile  or  so 
behind  them.  It  was  a  very  steep  hill,  or  they  would 
have  carried  it  by  assault ;  but  now  the  groom  on  the 
cock-horse  rode  up  and  hooked  his  harness  to  the 
whiffletree,  and  the  five  horses  set  their  necks  into 
the  collar,  and  took  the  summit  slowly,  as  by  siege. 
As  they  rose  up,  the  country  all  behind  them  was  un- 
folded, ridge  by  ridge,  like  a  map ;  Arthur  from  his 
back  seat  faced  full  toward  it.  Gradually  the  chim- 
neys of  the  factory  village  sank  down  into  the  bosom 
of  the  valley;  the  hills  breasting  it  rose  up  behind 
them,  until  they  overlooked  their  highest  ridge ;  now 
the  village  was  nearly  hidden  in  the  green  floor  of  the 
valley,  and  all  beyond  were  faint  blue  films  of  moun- 
tains; then,  as  they  rose  still  higher,  the  rift  of  lumi- 
nous air  between  the  near  hills  and  the  distant  moun- 
tains was  seen  to  be  paved  with  the  blue  flood  of  the 
river.  The  horses  paused  a  moment  to  take  breath  ; 
it  was  marvellously  still ;  now  and  then  the  cackle  of 
a  hen  came  up  from  the  valley  ;  a  train  was  crawling 
along  its  other  side,  but  it  moved  as  noiselessly  as 
the  white  specks  of  sails  upon  the  river. 

The  sunlight  began  to  be  hot,  and   Wemyss  was 


222  First  Harvests. 

sent  within  to  fetch  the  larger  sunshades  from  the 
"cabin,"  as  Miss  Duval  pleased  to  call  it. 

"  Now  you  men,"  said  Flossie,  "  may  go  behind 
and  smoke ;  and  Mrs.  Hay  can  take  a  place  in  front. 
You  have  none  of  you  had  your  morning  cigars,  I  am 
sure."  They  had  not ;  and  after  due  demurrage  the 
change  was  made.  Four  blue  clouds  arose  to  heaven 
from  the  after-seat ;  the  four  fair  women  grouped  to- 
gether in  front ;  and  Van  Kull  looked  now  and  then 
askance  and  backward,  as  if  in  envy.  And  surely 
if  ever  an  approach  to  godlike  Nirvana  is  realized 
on  earth,  it  is  when  one  is  moving  rapidly  through  a 
broad  June  morning,  looking  down  upon  the  round- 
ness of  the  world,  and  blowing  clouds  upon  it  dream- 
ily. 

When  Lord  Birmingham  took  Van  Kull's  place 
upon  the  box,  giving  the  latter  his  seat  in  the  smoke- 
room,  as  he  termed  it,  most  of  the  party  felt,  if  they 
did  not  show,  a  delightful  drowsiness,  which  was  only 
dispelled  by  their  arrival  at  a  town  and  rumors  of 
luncheon.  A  wild  burst  of  the  coaching  horn  elec- 
trified the  main  street,  and  they  drove  up  before  the 
principal  "  hotel,"  a  vast  and  ill-aired  wooden  struct- 
ure, quite  inappropriate  to  a  coaching  party,  or  even 
to  the  more  civilized  usages  of  life,  as  Mr.  Wemyss 
with  much  particularity  pointed  out.  But  a  private 
room  had  been  engaged  for  them,  and  in  this,  with 
some  local  chickens  and  the  resources  of  Mrs.  Gower's 
cellar  and  grapery,  they  made  out  not  so  badly. 

After  luncheon  the  men  smoked,  and  the  women 
retired  to  their  especial  quarters,  where,  it  is  to  be 


A    Coach  and  Four  Couples.         223 

presumed,  some  took  a  nap,  and  others,  having  sent 
for  the  little  travelling-bags  before  mentioned,  per- 
formed mysterious  rites  therewith.  Wemyss,  Lord 
Birmingham,  Miss  Duval,  Miss  Farnum,  and  Arthur 
went  to  walk  about  the  town,  and  became  the  sub- 
jects of  considerable  admiring  comment.  In  the 
country,  on  the  contrary,  such  had  not  been  the  case ; 
nil  admirari  was  a  motto  faithfully  practised,  and 
the  old  farmers  would  hardly  hitch  their  trousers  and 
turn  about  for  the  loudest  horn  or  the  most  rattling 
pace.  When  they  came  back  to  the  hotel  and  found 
the  coach  drawn  up  to  the  door,  there  was  assembled 
a  considerable  concourse  of  immature  populace,  who 
had  already  passed  from  the  open-mouthed  stage  to 
the  derisive  one,  and  were  making  sarcastic  and  in- 
jurious comments  upon  the  coach  and  its  equipment, 
with  that  tendency  so  noteworthy  in  young  America 
to  deride  or  decry  what  it  does  not  itself  possess. 

Off  went  the  horses — the  two  wheelers  were  nearly 
fresh,  having  only  been  in  the  wagonette  in  the  morn- 
ing— the  coachman  wound  a  rapid  call  upon  his  horn, 
attended  by  an  obligate  of  small  boys,  and  they  swayed 
and  swung  through  the  winding  street  of  the  hot 
little  town,  out  into  fields  and  hedgerows  again.  The 
hedges  were  in  front  of  the  lawns  and  villa  residences 
that  surrounded  the  town ;  and  the  road  was  well 
arched  over  with  elms  just  breaking  into  leaf,  under 
which  the  afternoon  sun  slanted. 

It  seemed  to  the  party  almost  the  perfection  of  life, 
as  the  little  disconnected  comments  and  the  absence 
of  any  effort  of  conversation  indicated.  Simple  being 


224  First  Harvests, 

was  enough  ;  there  was  no  sicklying  over  that  day's 
air  and  sunlight  with  any  pale  cast  of  thought,  as 
Derwent  said.  Again  they  were  high  up  on  the 
slope  of  the  country  side;  but  the  great  golden  bay 
of  the  Hudson  had  become  a  river  here,  and  close 
beyond  it  the  blue  mountains  of  the  highlands 
loomed  up  bold  and  near. 

Now  they  came  down  close  by  the  shore  of  the 
river ;  its  salted  waters  were  lapping,  lapping  on  the 
round,  weedy  shore-stones,  and  over  against  them,  in 
the  skirt  of  the  hills,  lurked  already  the  night.  The 
stream's  broad  bosom  glowed  motionless,  bearing  here 
and  there  a  bark  or  boat ;  but  no  Sidney  Sewall 
spoke  of  these  to-night,  or  cared  to  trouble  with  in- 
tellectual speculation.  Arthur  remembered  with  un- 
concern that  in  the  past  there  had  been  such  things 
as  the  city,  business,  hour  of  duty;  what  mattered 
this  to  them,  the  chosen  ones,  bright  beings  in  a 
world  apart  ?  And  certainly  everyone  of  the  party 
had  a  charm  our  hero  had  not  realized  before ;  even 
Mrs.  Hay,  with  her  strong,  sensuous  beauty,  lent  a 
richness  and  a  color  to  the  grouping. 

"  It  is  lovely,  after  all,"  said  Miss  Farnum,  dream- 
ily, voicing  his  thoughts.  Here  they  were  entering  a 
high  hanging  wood ;  on  the  lower  side  of  the  road  a 
lofty  hewn-stone*  wall,  all  overgrown  with  moss  and 
ivy,  surmounted  with  old-fashioned  stone  urns  now 
chipped  and  crumbling  away.  Over  it  they  could 
see  the  winding  leaf-heaped  walks  of  a  forgotten  gar- 
den, untended  lawns,  and  old  stone  garden-seats 
swathed  in  moss  and  mould.  "  It  must  be  the  grounds 


A    Coach  and  Four   Couples.          225 

of  some  gentleman's  old  country-seat,"  said  Miss  Far- 
num.  "  Everyone  goes  farther  from  the  city  nowa- 
days." There  was  a  something  begetting  thought 
in  this  suggestion  ;  the  warm  sunlight  sank  sleepily 
down  in  the  cup  there  between  the  woodlands,  and 
the  old  garden  looked  like  a  place  where  one  might 
take  a  nap  for  half  a  lifetime — say  from  youth  to 
early  old  age.  It  was  evidently  a  place  of  the  old 
Idlewild,  Ik  Marvel,  Porte-Crayon  days,  when  peo- 
pled lived  in  their  country,  wrote  of  Dobb  his  ferry, 
and  were  as  yet  unacquainted  with  Englishmen  and 
other  foreigners.  There  must  have  been  a  strong 
home-fragrance  in  our  life  in  the  forties  or  therea- 
bouts, before  the  few  found  out  that  we  are  prov- 
inces, or  the  many  that  we  are  all  the  world.  .  .  . 
Now  they  came  out  by  a  little  water-bay,  or  lagoon, 
reaching  inland,  where  the  water  lay  still  and  a 
salt  crust  was  on  the  long  plashed  grasses.  "  I  sup- 
pose the  people  who  live  here  go  to  Mount  Desert, 
nowadays,"  said  Miss  Farnum.  "  I  wonder  why  they 
left  here  ?  " 

"  Malaria,"  suggested  Wemyss. 

"  There  always  seems  something  unreal,  impossible 
about  malaria  here,"  said  Arthur.  "  Malaria  is  lan- 
guid, tropical,  unsuited  to  our  bleak  Northern,  Pu- 
ritan, hard-worked  hillsides  and  meadow  bottoms. 
Consumption,  not  malaria,  is  the  typical  disease." 

"  It  is  only  lately   creeping  into  New  England," 

said    Wemyss,   dryly.     Just    then   a  merry   burst    of 

laughter  was  heard   from  the   front ;  Arthur  looked 

behind  him,  but  there  seemed  to  be  no  one  speaking. 

15 


226  First  Harvests. 

The  laugh  had  been  from  Miss  Duval ;  she  turned 
around  at  the  same  moment,  her  black  eyes  sparkling 
from  her  rosy  face.  "  Isn't  it  delightful  ?  "  said  she  to 
Arthur.  There  seemed  to  be  no  other  reason  for  her 
laughing  than  this;  and  Arthur  laughed  in  accord 
with  her.  It  was  delightful. 

Now  they  were  up  in  the  highlands  again,  bowling 
along  a  hard  straight  road  between  the  rows  of  trees. 
Continually  the  merry  horn  was  sounded  to  warn  the 
slow  teams  ahead  to  turn  aside,  or  wake  the  sleepy 
milkmen,  or  pedlars  in  their  carts.  The  sun,  across 
the  river,  had  already  set  behind  the  purple  moun- 
tains ;  but  eastward,  to  the  right,  the  hills  were  light. 

They  entered  into  a  high  wood,  filled  already  with 
gray  shadows ;  along  the  edge  of  the  road  still  lay 
the  last  year's  leaves,  thick-matted,  making  the  sound 
of  the  wheels  soft.  What  light  there  was  came  from 
the  violet  sky  above  the  tree-tops  ;  and  against  it 
Kitty  Farnum's  profile  shone  pale  and  clear-cut.  Ar- 
thur was  humming  a  German  song  to  himself,  and 
looking  at  her  and  wondering  about  her :  what  she 
was,  what  was  her  secret  of  life. 

So  the  night  came  on  them,  in  the  wood.  It  was 
evening  when  they  came  out  of  it  and  rolled  along, 
low  by  the  river-shore ;  opposite,  the  great  black  mass 
of  the  Storm  King,  and  beyond  it,  farther  to  the 
north,  the  mountains  sank  into  a  long  low  line,  and 
above  the  dark  ridge  the  sky  was  saffron,  and  in  it 
hung  and  trembled  one  large  liquid  star,  reflected 
larger  and  softly  in  the  calm  river.  And  they  all 
looked  at  these  things  and  were  silent. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   CHARIOT   OF   THE   CARELESS   GODS. 

[HE  coach  drew  up  at  the  little  wharf  at  Gar- 
rison's, and  the  party  got  into  the  ferry- 
boat and  were  carried  across  the  river. 
The  great  hotel  at  West  Point  had  been' 
opened  ;  the  waiters  were  spick  and  span  ;  the  wood- 
en floors  were  varnished,  and  slippery  like  glass.  In 
the  hall  were  two  or  three  pretty  girls,  overdressed 
in  white  tulle  dresses,  low-necked,  with  their  cavaliers 
who  served  for  the  nonce  and  their  noisy  younger 
brothers.  This  bright  company  crowded  to  the  porch, 
curious,  when  the  carriages  drove  up  ;  and  Arthur 
heard  one  of  the  pretty  girls  say  to  another,  "  It's  the 
coaching-party — from  New  York." 

They  went  out  and  wandered  on  the  cliffs  above 
the  river;  the  beautiful  moon-washed  mountains 
stood  about  them,  and  below  them  slept  the  Hudson 
with  its  salt  flood,  deeper,  nobler  than  any  Rhine. 
But  there  were  no  castles  here,  nor  Lorelei ;  and  the 
sunken  gold  had  long  since  been  robbed  from  its 
depths  and  was  circulating  in  the  hands  of  men. 

Arthur  fell  to  Miss  Duval's  share,  a  position  he  al- 
ways found  a  somewhat  uncomfortable  one  ;  for  how 
could  he  replace  another  man  like  Jimmy  De  Witt, 
and  that  one  her  acknowledged  lover  ?  But,  had  he 
known  it,  Miss  Pussie,  who  was  looking  forward  with 


228  First  Harvests. 

intense  and  hungry  anticipation  for  the  joys  of  world- 
ly pleasure  and  a  fashionable  marriage,  and  regarded 
this  coaching  party  as  an  earnest  of  them,  would  have 
blushed  at  herself  if  she  had  been  so  out  of  the  mode 
as  to  be  unable  to  flirt  with  anyone  but  her  future 
husband.  It  must  be  owned,  therefore,  that  she  found 
our  hero  slow ;  she  tried  to  talk  to  him  of  hunting, 
and  he  to  her  of  books,  both  things  of  which  they 
were  reciprocally  ignorant.  Then  they  walked  up 
•and  down  the  great  piazza,  and  amused  themselves 
by  looking  through  the  windows  into  the  great  par- 
lors, where  the  hotel  girls  (puclla  tabcrnensis  Ameri- 
cana) were  dancing  with  some  tightly  buttoned  ca- 
dets. Just  then  Lionel  Derwent  came  up,  alone  with 
his  cigar.  "  Let  me  join  you,"  said  he.  "  I  went 
downhill  and  I  came  upon  Birmingham,  in  at  atti- 
tude full  of  unconscious  humor,  addressing  Miss  Far- 
num  ;  I  came  uphill  and  blundered  upon  Van  Kull 
and  Mrs.  Hay.  From  these  I  retreated  in  disorder 
only  to  make  myself  de  trop  with  Mr.  Caryl  Wemyss 
and  our  charming  hostess.  Shall  I  be  so  here  ?  " 

Miss  Duval  laughed.  "  I  was  just  going  to  bed, 
Mr.  Derwent ;  so  you  and  Mr.  Holyoke  can  fight  it 
out  alone.  Good-night — good-night,  Mr.  Holyoke." 
And  she  left  them  in  the  doorway  and  took  her  way 
up  the  great  staircase.  Arthur  and  Mr.  Derwent 
looked  at  one  another  inquiringly.  "  Shall  we  go  and 
smoke  ?  "  said  the  latter,  at  last.  "  By  all  means," 
answered  Arthur.  "  Where  shall  we  go — out  upon 
the  cliff  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  too  densely  populated  there  for 


The  Chariot  of  the  Careless   Gods.     229 

such  a  wild  man  as  myself,  already,"  said  Denvent, 
laughing.  "  Come  down  to  the  billiard-room."  They 
went  down  there,  and  sat  at  a  table,  opposite  a  bar, 
where  they  were  not,  as  Derwent  expressed  it, 
"  troubled  by  the  moon,"  and  here  they  smoked  their 
cigars  and  pondered. 

"  Mr.  Van  Kull  seems  rather  devoted  to  Mrs.  Hay," 
said  Arthur,  at  a  venture. 

"  And  well  he  may  be,"  said  Derwent,  gravely. 
"  He  prefers  the  flowers  of  evil ;  and  she  is  a  most 
glorious  one." 

"  Evil  ?  "  said  Arthur,  incredulously.  "  She  seems 
to  me  a  kind-hearted  creature,  fond  of  show,  no  worse 
than  thoughtless." 

"  So  is  a  nightshade  blossom  fond  of  sunlight,  and 
bright-colored  and  innocent  of  harm,"  said  Derwent, 
with  a  smile.  "  Mrs.  Hay  is  a  luxuriant  animal — a 
woman  of  the  world,  as  other  women  are  women  of 
the  town ;  and  her  life  is  one  continual  sermon  unto 
these :  '  Look  ye ;  I  am  rich,  happy,  high-placed ;  I 
have  all  the  opportunities  and  advantages,  all  the 
taste  and  teaching,  that  the  best  can  give ;  and  I  have 
not  one  single  taste,  or  thought,  or  aspiration  that 
the  worst  of  you  have  not ;  nor  have  I  lost  one  that 
you  have,  except,  perhaps,  the  fondness  for  domestic 
life  which  some  of  the  best  of  you  may  once  have 
had.  I,  too,  still  care  for  dress  and  show  and  the 
longing  glance  of  many  men ;  these  things,  that  you 
are  foolishly  told  have  ruined  you,  are  just  what  I, 
too,  prize  in  life  ;  I,  Mrs.  Wilton  Hay,  the  great  high- 
born beauty  whose  photograph  you  have  seen  in  the 


230  First  Harvests. 

shop-windows  ! '  I  tell  you,"  ended  Derwent,  savage- 
ly, "  but  for  a  little  poor  fastidiousness,  her  soul  re- 
sembles theirs  as  do  two  berries  on  one  stem.  But 
consciously,  'tis  true  she  does  no  harm  ;  possibly  she 
has  not  even  sinned ;  as  well  attach  a  moral  guilt  to 
some  gaudy  wayside  weed,  growing  by  mistake  in  a 
garden  among  the  sesame  and  lilies  !  " 

"  But  Mrs.  Gower  seems  very  fond  of  her " 

"  Ah  !  Mrs.  Gower !  "  answered  Derwent,  dropping 
his  voice.  "  She  is  a  different  sort  of  person  entirely. 
Fannie  Hay  is  but  a  soldier  of  Apollyon ;  but  Flor- 
ence Gower  is  a  general-of-division." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  live  with  them,"  said  Arthur, 
boldly. 

"  Ah,  Holyoke,  I  live  everywhere  ;  I  see  these,  and 
others,  too.  That  night  when  I  came  back  from  the 
factory  village,  I  had  been  talking  with  the  men,  and 
with  some  of  the  young  girls  there.  And  I  could 
fancy  Mrs.  Hay  going  there,  good-naturedly  as  she 
might,  and  saying  to  them  :  '  Don't  care  for  dresses, 
or  to  lure  men's  love  or  women's  envy,  or  to  dazzle 
your  neighbor  Jenny  or  break  her  Johnny's  heart ; 
read  books,  look  at  pictures,  enjoy  the  beauties  of  nat- 
ure, seek  the  beauty  of  holiness.' — '  Does  your  lady- 
ship ? '  say  they. — '  Well,  at  all  events,  be  clean,'  an- 
swers Fannie  Hay,  shocked. — '  But  cleanliness  costs 
money,  my  fine  lady.' — Christ  solved  the  question 
once ;  but  now  Christ  is  forgotten  ;  and  the  sphinx 
looks  out  unanswered  over  the  desert  sand." 

"  Surely  you  can  say  nothing  against  MissFarnum, 
at  least  ?  " 


The  Chariot  of  the  Careless   Gods.     231 

"  She  is  caught  like  the  others,  in  their  web,"  said 
he.  "  But  come,  it's  late  indeed  to  be  troubling  our- 
selves over  these  two  or  three.  What  are  they  to  the 
million  ?  " 

Arthur  thought  much  of  Derwent's  talk;  but  he 
seemed  to  him  a  morbid  fellow,  unpractical  and  vague. 
And  still  more  morbid  it  all  seemed  in  the  morning, 
when  he  woke  and  saw  the  sunlight  and  blue  sky 
above  the  mountains  of  the  river.  Dressing  was  a 
delight,  with  such  an  outlook  and  with  such  a  day 
before  him  ;  and  coming  down  he  met  Miss  Farnum 
looking  fresh  as  a  rose  with  the  dew  on  it.  Caryl 
Wemyss  was  standing  talking  to  her  with  that  air  of 
distinction  of  which  he  was  so  proud ;  and  just  after, 
Mrs.  Hay  and  Miss  Duval  came  bouncing  down  the 
staircase,  arm  in  arm.  So  they  went  in  to  breakfast, 
without  waiting  for  Mrs.  Gower,  hungry,  and  in  high 
glee  for  want  of  a  chaperone.  "  Oh,  I  don't  consider 
you  a  chaperone,"  said  Pussie  Duval  to  Mrs.  Hay. 
"  Nor  do  I,"  added  Kill  Van  Kull,  hastily. 

Theirs  was  the  central  table  in  the  dining-hall ;  and 
each  lady  found  a  dozen  roses  at  her  plate.  These 
were  from  Lord  Birmingham,  who  appeared  late,  and 
was  duly  thanked  for  them.  Every  man  asked  his 
neighbor  for  one  rosebud  as  a  boutonni&re :  and  just 
then  Flossie  came  in,  dressed  in  the  airiest  of  summer 
gowns  ;  and  there  was  a  great  arising  and  scraping  of 
chairs  among  the  gentlemen. 

Soon  they  were  down  at  the  river,  and  crossing  the 
river  again.  Such  a  wealth  of  brown  sunlight  as  was 
in  the  air !  The  bold  mountains  rose  up  on  either 


232  First  Harvests. 

side,  not  soft  and  purple  with  heather,  as  in  England, 
nor  brown  and  sharp  with  rock,  as  in  Italy,  but  green 
and  shaggy,  as  in  a  new  country,  with  a  growth  of 
timber ;  the  deep,  swirling  waters,  brown  where  you 
looked  into  them,  shaded  off  to  blue  farther  from  the 
boat,  where  they  gleamed  smooth  beneath  the  cloud- 
less sky.  And  the  sparkle  and  the  stillness  of  the 
morning  gave  one  the  feeling  of  a  truant  school-boy. 

"  There  is  something  about  an  American  landscape 
that  reminds  one  of  the  pictures  in  omnibuses,"  said 
Wemyss.  No  one  replied  to  this  ;  for  they  were 
nearing  the  wharf,  where  the  coach  and  four  were 
standing,  as  if  it  were  Fifth  Avenue.  Again  there  was 
the  shifting  of  rugs  and  wraps  in  the  body,  and  the 
courtesies  of  the  steel  ladder,  and  the  pleasant  twink- 
ling of  neat  ankles  as  the  ladies  alertly  mounted  it. 
The  four  men  hove  themselves  up  anyhow,  with  Lord 
Birmingham  and  Miss  Farnum  on  the  box ;  and  then 
with  a  swing  the  heavy  drag  was  swaying  under  way, 
and  the  four  shining  chestnuts  took  the  hill  at  a  gal- 
lop. They  were  passing  a  row  of  square  wooden 
houses  where  poor  people  lived,  and  Mrs.  Hay  turned 
about  and  called  to  Wemyss.  "  One  thing  I  notice, 
Mr.  Wemyss — in  America  you  have  tenements,  not 
cottages." 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  and  '  elegant  residences '  for  gen- 
tlemen's houses ! " 

"  Now,  in  Devonshire,"  said  Mrs.  Hay,  "  those  cot- 
tages would  be  smothered  in  roses  and  fuchsia  vines. 
Don't  you  have  any  cottage  improvement  societies  ? 
My  cousin,  Lady  St.  Aubyn,  at  Hartland  (near  Clo- 


The  Chariot  of  the  Careless  Gods.     233 

velly,  you  know),  has  been  most  active  in  them  ;  and 
one  of  her  tenants  took  the  prize  for  the  county ! '' 

"  These  people  are  nobody's  tenants,"  said  Wem- 
yss  ;  "  and  they  decorate  their  houses  as  they  damn 
please,  American  fashion ;  with  goats  and  tomato- 
cans,  if  they  prefer." 

By  this  time  they  had  entered  the  forest  that 
clothes  the  slopes  of  Breakneck  Mountain.  The  road 
was  none  of  the  best,  and  the  top  of  the  coach  ca- 
reened violently,  almost  shaking  Derwent,  who  was 
idly  smoking  with  his  face  in  the  sunlight  and  his  eyes 
half  closed,  off  the  back  seat.  "  Come,  let's  walk," 
said  Pussie  Duval  ;  and  as  the  coach  halted  a  mo- 
ment upon  one  of  those  ridges  across  the  road  imag- 
inatively designated  "  thank-ye-marms,"  she  nimbly 
dropped  herself  over  the  side  and  sprang  back  into 
the  daisies  and  buttercups.  Arthur,  Mrs.  Hay,  Flos- 
sie, Van  Kull,  and  Wemyss  followed ;  Derwent  Mrs. 
Gower  ordered  to  remain  upon  the  coach  and  play 
propriety ;  whereupon  that  gentleman  stretched  him- 
self quite  lengthwise  upon  the  warm  back  seat,  pulled 
his  cloth  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  to  all  appearances 
went  to  sleep. 

"  We  can  cut  off  a  mile,"  said  Van  Kull,  "  by  cut- 
ting straight  through  the  woods  to  where  the  road 
strikes  the  river  again.  Now  then  !  each  his  own  way, 
and  the  coach  will  wait  for  us  there,  if  it  gets  in 
first.''  So  they  disappeared ;  Van  Kull  with  Mrs. 
Hay  making  for  a  pine  grove  on  the  high  land,  Wem- 
yss and  Mrs.  Gower  going  lower,  where  there  seemed 
evidences  of  a  path,  and  our  hero  with  Miss  Duval 


234  First  Harvests. 

taking  a  middle  course  through  a  rocky  pasture, 
sweet-scented  with  fern  and  heathery  blossoms,  and 
dotted  with  dwarfed  and  obsolete  apple-trees.  This 
gave  Lord  Birmingham  a  chance  of  devoting  himself 
entirely  to  his  driving  and  his  companion  upon  the 
box.  For  an  hour  or  more  the  coach  lumbered  on  ; 
its  driver  talked  incessantly,  but  drove  very  badly, 
and  Lionel  Derwent  slumbered  in  the  rear. 

In  the  woods,  the  day  was  a  very  warm  one.  What 
breeze  there  was  could  not  be  felt.  It  would  take  too 
long  to  follow  the  devious  ways  of  every  party  in  all 
their  wanderings ;  suffice  it  to  say  that  shortly  before 
noon  Arthur,  with  Pussie  Duval,  came  out  upon  the 
road  close  by  the  Hudson,  where  they  sat  upon  a 
fence  and  waited.  Arthur  was  getting  every  day  more 
used  to  her  society ;  and  Mr.  De  Witt  was  no  longer 
so  continually  upon  his  mind.  Here  they  were  met 
by  the  other  two  couples ;  and  finally,  when  the 
coach  came  thundering  down  the  hill  with  a  wheel  in 
a  shoe,  the  whole  six  were  sitting  on  the  fence,  a  la 
mode  du  pays ;  and  Wemyss  was  even  whittling. 

"  Well,  you  have  been  long,"  said  Van  Kull. 

"  Ah,  you  can't  make  up  for  lost  time  with  cracking 
of  whips  and  horn-blowing !  "  laughed  Mrs.  Gower. 

"  What  have  they  been  doing  all  this  time  ? — with- 
out prejudice,  now,  Mr.  Derwent  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Hay — I've  been  asleep,"  said 
that  gentleman. 

"  Come,  now,  I'd  like  to  know  how  long  all  of  you 
have  been  here — that's  all,"  growled  his  lordship, 
blushing  obviously.  "  Get  aboard  there — I'm  hun- 


The  Chariot  of  the  Careless   Gods.     235 

gry  as  a  bear.  Where  do  we  stop  for  lunch,  Mrs. 
Gower  ?  " 

"  At  Fishkill,"  said  that  lady.  "  It's  only  a  few 
miles  ahead."  And  in  an  hour  or  so  they  stopped 
before  a  sleepy  old  inn,  low  and  rambling,  with  a  Rip- 
Van-Winklish  look  about  it.  There  is  a  lazy  luxuri- 
ance, a  sort  of  slatternly  comfort,  and  a  Southern 
coloring  about  these  old  New  York  villages,  bespeak- 
ing material  ease  and  an  absence  of  moral  nervous- 
ness ;  perhaps  nervous  morality  would  better  express 
it.  "  I  never  look  at  a  place  like  this,"  said  Wemyss, 
"  without  thinking  that  the  most  vigorous-sounding 
word  in  the  Dutchman's  language  was  Schnapps  !  " 

After  luncheon  the  day  was  warm,  and  the  ladies 
inclined  to  sleep.  Only  Derwent  wished  for  a  walk, 
and  Arthur  went  with  him,  while  the  others  smoked. 
They  sauntered  through  the  little  town's  unkempt, 
painted  streets  ;  and  Derwent  sent  a  telegram.  Ar- 
thur noticed,'  with  some  surprise,  that  it  was  addressed 
to  Haviland.  Then  at  three  they  returned,  and 
found  the  party  for  the  most  part  wrapped  in  dreams. 

They  put  to  and  were  off,  but  the  order  was 
changed,  as  usual,  and  Pussie  Duval  rode  with  Der- 
went on  the  box.  Caryl  Wemyss  would  not  drive, 
for  he  never  did  anything  that  he  thought  he  did  not 
well ;  so  he  and  Mrs.  Gower  and  Birmingham  sat  on 
the  back  seat,  with  Arthur,  Van  Kull,  Mrs.  Hay,  and 
Kitty  Farnum  on  in  front.  The  drive  to  Poughkeep- 
sie  was  straight  and  uneventful.  The  long  hours 
were  only  diversified  by  Mrs.  Wilton  Hay's  uncertain 
efforts  on  the  coaching-horn. 


236  First  Harvests. 

Poughkeepsie  is  a  brick-built  city,  with  horse-car 
lines,  an  opera-house,  and  a  court  of  justice  all  its 
own.  Here  they  had  a  suite  of  rooms,  with  long  lace 
curtains,  black-walnut  furniture,  and  Brussels  carpets, 
equipped  "before  the  dawn  of  taste,  in  poor  imitation 
of  a  poorer  thing,"  said  Wemyss ;  "  how  different 
from  an  English  inn  ! "  The  rest  of  the  adornment 
consisted,  in  each  room,  of  a  steam-heater  and  a 
pitcher  of  ice-water!  "I  believe  they  even  bathe 
in  ice-water!"  said  he.  "  Dear  me  !  "  said  Birming- 
ham, simply.  "  I  rang  and  could  not  get  a  tub  at 
all." 

They  had  dinner  in  Mrs.  Gower's  parlor,  and  a 
telegram  was  brought  in  to  her  during  the  dessert. 
"  Oh,  I  am  very  glad,"  said  she,  as  she  laid  it  down. 
"  It  is  from  Mr.  Haviland ;  and  he  says  he  can  join 
us  to-morrow."  Arthur  looked  at  her,  and  then  at 
Derwent ;  but  that  gentleman  made  no  sign  ;  only, 
Lord  Birmingham  looked  disgusted.  The  others  ex- 
pressed a  polite  gratification,  and  then  the  question 
came  up  what  they  were  to  do  in  the  evening.  Al- 
ready a  great  intimacy  had  sprung  up  among  the 
party,  and  a  certain  feeling  of  youth,  born  of  much 
outdoor  air  and  freedom  from  care.  Some  proposed 
ghost-stories,  others,  games.  "  I  bar  kissing  games," 
said  Pussie  Duval,  with  much  aplomb,  "  in  the  ab- 
sence of  Mr.  De  Witt."  Kisses  were  debarred,  being, 
as  Van  Kull  expressed  it,  too  serious  things  to  be 
made  game  of;  but  forfeits,  twenty  questions,  even 
dancing,  was  indulged  in.  When  all  these  failed  to 
satisfy  their  souls,  it  was  rumored  that  Mr.  Derwent 


7 he  Chariot  of  the  Careless   Gods.     237 

was  "  up  "  in  palmistry.  "  Oh,  do  tell  us  our  for- 
tunes ! "  was  the  cry.  "  We  must  have  a  regular 
gypsy  tent." 

"  Now,"  said  Mrs.  Hay,  "  it's  no  fun  unless  we  all 
tell.  Agree  all  of  you  to  tell  us  what  he  says  !  " 

"  Girls,  girls  "  (the  women  of  Mrs.  Gower's  set  had 
a  way  of  still  addressing  each  other  joyously  as 
"  girls ") — "  suppose  he  reveals  the  secrets  of  your 
hearts  ?  " 

"  Ton  my  soul !  "  cried  Mrs.  Hay,  "  I've  quite  for- 
gotten what  they  are  !  Who'll  go  in  first  ?  " 

A  shawl  had  been  hung  across  an  open  door,  be- 
hind which  Derwent  took  up  his  position.  No  one 
seemed  anxious  to  make  the  first  try ;  and  at  last  the 
voice  of  the  company  fell  upon  Arthur  Holyoke,  "as 
having,"  said  Mrs.  Gower,  "  the  most  future  before 
him." 

Arthur  went  in  and  came  out  laughing.  "  I  have 
had,"  said  he,  "  a  very  terrible  horoscope,  as  Derwent 
says.  Everything  that  I  really  wish  for  is  to  happen 
to  me  !" 

"  I  don't  see  what  there  is  so  very  terrible  about 
that,"  said  they  all  ;  and  the  others  were  embol- 
dened. Mrs.  Gower  went  in  next.  "  Speak  aloud, 
Mr.  Derwent,"  cried  Mrs.  Hay,  "  so  we  all  can 
hear — we  can't  trust  the  garbled  statements  of  the 
culprits." 

Derwent's  voice  was  heard,  in  sepulchral  tones, 
from  behind  the  screen.  "  I  see  the  hand  of  a 
woman  who  has  done  whatever  she  has  meant  to 
do " 


238  First  Harvests. 

("  Dear  me,"  interjected  Mrs.  Hay,  "  how  success- 
ful we  all  are  !  ") 

"  She  may  come  near  doing  more  than  she  meant 
to  do  ;  but  her  will  shall  conquer  everything." 

"  How  delightfully  enigmatic  ! "  laughed  Pussie 
Duval. 

"  You  must  go  in  next,  Miss  Pussie — you  spoke," 
said  Van  Kull.  But  Pussie  wouldn't ;  and  the  choice 
fell  upon  Kitty  Farnum.  She  disappeared,  and  there 
was  several  moments'  silence.  At  last — 

"  Ein  Jiingling  liebt  ein  Madchen, 
Die  hat  einen  Andern  erwahlt ; 
Der  Andre  liebt  eine  Andre 
Und  hat  sich  mit  Dieser  vermahlt. 

"Das  Madchen  heirathet  aus  -Xrger 
Den  ersten  besten  Mann, 
Der  ihr  in  den  Weg  gelaufen  ; 
Der  Jiingling  ist  iibel  dran. 

"Es  ist  eine  alte  Geschichte, 
Doch  bleibt  sie  immer  neu  ; 
Und  wem  sie  just  passiret, 
Dem  bricht  das  Herz  entzwei " 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  laughed  Flossie.  "  Come,  you 
go  in,  Mr.  Van  Kull." 

"  I  can  tell  more  of  this  man's  past  than  his  future," 
said  the  voice. 

"  There  has  been  a  voyage  across  the  water — per- 
haps to  Brighton,  or  to  Cannes.  And  there  is  a  fair 
maiden  and  a  dark  maiden  ;  and  both  have  had  but 


The  Chariot  of  the  Careless  Gods.     239 

little  influence  on  his  life.  And  there  is  to  be  an- 
other yet,  I  see — 

"  There,  there,"  interfered  Flossie,  "  if  you  make 
poor  Van  such  a  Don  Juan,  we  shall  have  to  send 
him  home  again,  in  our  own  protection.  Mrs.  Hay, 
you  go  in." 

But  this  the  beauty  flatly  refused  to  do.  And 
after  much  chaff  at  her  expense,  the  party  betook 
themselves  to  their  several  slumbers. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday ;  but,  as  Wemyss  said, 
to  leave  Poughkeepsie  was  a  work  of  necessity  and 
mercy ;  and  they  were  early  under  way.  Here  they 
left  the  river,  and  they  struck  inland  ;  the  country 
grew  more  rural  and  primitive,  and  their  spirits  rose 
proportionately.  Haviland  appeared  by  the  early 
train,  and  shared  the  back  seat  with  Birmingham, 
Mrs.  Gower,  and  Kitty  Farnum.  He  brought  the 
news  of  the  day,  which  no  one  cared  to  hear;  and 
some  gossip  of  the  town,  which  interested  everybody. 
"  How  can  you  have  the  heart  to  bring  him  up  ?  " 
Wemyss  had  said  at  breakfast ;  and  Flossie  had 
laughed,  and  said  that  she  expected  a  very  entertain- 
ing day.  "  He  must  go  back  Monday  evening,  you 
know,"  she  added. 

They  had  another  perfect  day,  and  by  this  time  all 
of  them,  even  to  Caryl  Wemyss,  were  charged  with 
ozone  and  overflowing  with  animal  spirits.  Even 
practical  joking  was  in  order ;  and  Arthur  had  caught 
an  instantaneous  photograph,  which  he  exhibited  with 
much  applause,  of  Van  Kull  assisting  Mrs.  Hay  over 
a  stone  wall.  Conversation  was  unnecessary ;  it  was 


240  First  Harvests. 

quite  enough  to  live  and  laugh.  Much  amusement 
was  caused  by  a  rustic,  at  a  farm-house  where  they 
stopped  for  milk,  who  first  insisted  that  they  were  the 
advance-guard  of  a  circus,  and  then  would  have  it 
that  they  were  "  travelling"  for  something — "jerseys" 
and  men's  clothing,  he  first  suggested,  and  then  par- 
lor organs  and  patent  medicines.  And  all  the  women 
were  so  pretty,  and  so  stylish,  and  so  sweet-tempered, 
that  Arthur  began  to  feel  a  little  bit  in  love  with 
every  one  of  them. 

"  But  one  gets  tired  of  women,  after  a  while,"  said 
Caryl  Wemyss  to  Arthur,  at  Washington  Hollow, 
where  they  lunched.  The  inn  was  an  old  roadside 
one,  at  the  "  four  corners,"  smelling  of  dusty  leather 
and  the  road,  with  a  large  bar-room,  fit  political  cen- 
tre of  the  surrounding  district  ;  but  the  country  was 
robed  in  beautiful  green  forests,  into  which  the  others 
had  plunged,  and  came  back  loaded  with  wild  flowers, 
Mrs.  Gower  with  Lord  Birmingham,  and  Haviland 
and  Kitty  Farnum  last  of  all.  For  a  wonder,  Derwent 
had  done  the  polite,  and  wandered  off  with  Mrs.  Wil- 
ton Hay.  Van  Kull  and  Miss  Duval  came  back  laugh- 
ing over  some  quaint  epitaphs  they  had  discovered  in 
what  he  termed  a  "  boneyard  "  opposite.  "  What  a 
jolly  place  this  must  have  been  in  the  old  days ! " 
said  Flossie.  "  Look  at  the  splendid  great  chimney- 
places  and  the  old  ball-room  ! "  And  Arthur's  mem- 
ory suddenly  went  back  to  the  ball-room  at  Lem 
Hitchcock's.  But  it  was  summer  now,  and  the  place 
was  civilized ;  some  stranded  woman-boarder  was 
playing,  upon  an  old  piano  overhead,  one  of  Beetho- 


77ie   Chariot  of  the  Careless   Gods.     241 

vcn's  sonatas.     And  Derwent  took  up  a  curious  old 
stone  jug,  in  which  they  had  had  milk,  and  read  : 

"  He  who  buys  land,  buys  stones  ; 

"  He  who  buys  meat,  buys  bones  ; 

"  He  who  buys  eggs  must  buy  their  shells — 

"  Who  buys  good  ale  buys  nothing  else." 

But,  after  all,  no  stops  were  like  the  rapid  riding ; 
the  sense  of  freedom  and  delight  of  sweeping  high 
over  the  rolling  country,  making  a  panorama  of  it, 
and  being  in  a  little  republic  of  their  own.  Two 
small  roans  were  leaders  to-day,  and  the  chestnuts, 
being  a  little  used  up,  were  in  the  lighter  baggage- 
wagon,  in  "  spike  team  "  with  the  cock-horse  ;  for  no 
great  hills  were  expected  that  afternoon. 

Arthur  settled  himself  again  to  the  pure  delight  of 
life,  gazing  joyously  from  sky  to  forest  and  from  for- 
est to  the  wide  green  carpet  of  the  fields,  sweeping  by 
them  with  the  changing  angles  of  the  long  Virginia 
fences.  Arthur  and  Pussie  Duval  were  the  least  blast 
of  the  party ;  and  both  drank  in  the  very  moments 
with  enthusiasm.  And  when  he  was  tired  of  looking 
at  the  swelling  hills  and  spaces  of  the  sky,  it  was  pleas- 
ant to  look  in  her  fair  face — or,  for  that  matter,  at  any 
other  of  the  beautiful  women  about  him.  As  for  Miss 
Duval,  the  world  was  like  an  opening  treasure-house 
to  her ;  she  saw  before  her  all  she  wanted,  and  had 
only  to  grasp  her  fill  with  full  hands.  Ah!  saints 
and  cynics  to  the  contrary,  this  world  has  happiness 
for  some — thought  Arthur.  But  what  he  said  was, 
"  How  lovely  that  long  edge  of  the  forest  is,  Miss 
16 


242  First  Harvests. 

Duval !  See  how  boldly  the  high  trees  rise  out  of 
the  meadow ;  I  suppose  it's  what  the  poets  call  a 
'  hanging  wood.'  La  listire  they  call  it  in  French  ;  I 
have  always  thought  it  was  such  a  pretty  name  for 
Mrs.  Gower's  place.'' 

"  But  you  weren't  really  thinking  of  that,  Mr.  Ho- 
lyoke,"  said  she.  "  You  weren't  looking  at  it." 

"  I  was  looking  at  your  eyes,  Miss  Duval,  if  you 
will  have  it,"  said  Arthur.  It  will  be  seen  that  our 
hero  was  making  progress. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Hay,  who  overheard  this 
speech,  "  I  shall  certainly  write  to  Mr.  De  Witt. 
Why  don't  yoii  say  such  intense  things  to  me,  Mr. 
Van  Kull  ?  " 

"  Because  I  daren't,"  said  Van  Kull,  meaningly. 

"  Please — I'll  promise  not  to  write  to  Wilton,"  re- 
torted she.  "  Poor  Wilton  !  he  must  find  it  so  hot  in 
Washington." 

How  pleasant  it  is  to  feel  ourselves  moving  above 
the  world  like  gods !  How  pleasant  it  is,  like  gods, 
to  make  of  our  own  rules  of  conduct  our  laws  of  good 
and  evil !  And  what  responsibility  have  we  for  the 
rest  of  humanity  ?  They  should  not  all  attempt  to 
be  in  fashion.  Fashion  is  for  us  alone — us  few,  who 
transcend  common  laws. 

Yet  it  is  relying  on  the  many  abiding  by  the  hum- 
drum rules  of  gravity  that  the  few  can  flutter  and 
glitter  freely  on  the  surface.  In  the  evening  there 
was  a  moon  (which  shineth  alike  upon  the  just  and  on 
the  unjust ;  particularly  the  latter,  for  moonlight  has 
no  conscience),  and  the  warm  night  attracted  them 


The  Chariot  of  the  Careless   Gods.     243 

forth  from  the  dreary  hotel  parlor.  They  wandered 
up  the  hill,  through  pastures,  to  where  there  was  a 
cliff,  above  huge  chasms  of  a  quarry,  carven  deep  into 
the  living  rock.  Here  they  met  some  Italian  labor- 
ers; they  were  living  in  little  wooden  huts  about  the 
quarry,  with  their  womankind,  richly,  upon  seventy 
cents  a  day.  Their  views  of  life  were  much  the  same 
as  their  own,  thought  Derwent,  looking  at  the  merry 
party  ;  with  only,  perhaps,  a  little  less  morality,  a 
little  more  religion,  these  day  laborers,  than  had  they. 

Caryl  Wemyss  conversed  with  them  a  little  in  their 
own  language,  at  which  they  were  greatly  pleased. 
They  were  citizens,  and  had  come  over  to  make  their 
portion  of  our  great  democracy ;  but  they  sighed  for 
the  sunny  skies  of  Sicily  as  yet. 

Wemyss  was  walking  with  Mrs.  Gower,  and  as  they 
turned  back  they  found  Haviland  sitting  with  Kitty 
Farnum  on  a  stone  wall  in  the  long  grass ;  the  moon 
lit  up  her  fair  face  and  her  eyes,  which  were  shining  ; 
and  all  about  them  lay  the  petals  of  a  rose  that  she 
had  pulled  to  pieces.  "  How  like  Faust  and  Mar- 
guerite !  "  said  Mrs.  Gower. 

"  Say,  rather,  Psyche  with  her  Dipsychus,"  said 
Mr.  Wemyss. 

"  Who  is  Dipsychus  ?  "  said  Flossie  Gower. 

"  Have  you  never  met  him,  then  ?  "  said  Wemyss. 
And  coming  back,  she  took  his  arm  across  the  fields. 

Wemyss  pressed  it  gently,  and  began  to  analyze 
himself,  whether  he  was  in  love  with  her  or  not.  It 
rather  flattered  him  to  think  he  was. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ARTHUR  GOES   HOME. 


|HE  days  were  growing  unnumbered  by  this 
time,  measure  of  time  being  only  neces- 
sary when  one  has  daily  petty  duties,  and 
existence  is  not  a  continuous,  untroubled 
joy.  Arthur  positively  bloomed ;  even  Derwent 
seemed  a  shade  less  anxious  for  the  souls  of  men,  and 
Mr.  Wemyss  a  point  less  analytic.  And  the  morning 
was  one  to  bring  a  bit  of  fresh  color  to  the  cheek  of  a 
very  Tannhauser  who  had  been  long  years  jaded  with 
Venus's  joys,  his  dull  eyes  rested  with  the  lights  of  earth 
again,  his  ear  soothed  by  notes  of  spring  and  human 
love.  The  land  was  beautiful  with  bud-promise,  the 
air  steeped  with  joyous  light  of  life.  And  the  girls 
came  down  to  breakfast,  looking  each  and  all  a  Hebe. 
For  the  will  of  the  world  comes  out  in  this — that  all 
that  has  to  do  with  life,  new  life,  charms  and  attracts 
us;  that  all  that  speaks  of  over-thought,  of  over-soul, 
if  you  will,  is  wan  and  weird — either  positively  un- 
canny, or  laughable,  like  the  chorus  of  old  men  in 
Faust !  Instinctively,  we  all  turn  to  the  flower,  to  the 
fresh  looks  of  the  young  girl,  to  the  rosy  lips,  full  of 
the  promise  of  future  life.  No  wrinkled  wisdom,  no 
sorrowful  lines  of  character,  can  make  up  for  this. 


Arthur  Goes  Home.  245 

The  first  thoughtless  girl  we  meet  shows  her  beaut e  du 
diable  more  than  a  match  for  all  the  crow's-feet  of  the 
intellect.  And  this  is  the  magnetism  of  vitality  ;  it  is 
your  full-blooded  man  that  the  masses  of  the  world 
delight  to  follow.  The  unthinking  are  repelled  by 
too  much  consciousness,  as  by  disease. 

We  all  have  known  such  sunny  mornings,  when  we 
that  are  living  live,  and  the  dead  lie  dead  in  their 
churchyards.  Gayly  the  party  mounted  ;  and  the 
strong  horses  galloped  over  the  roads.  They  were  still 
in  the  broad  valley  of  the  Hudson  ;  far  behind  them 
lay  the  river,  unseen,  but  farther  still  was  visible  yet 
the  blue  film  of  the  Catskills.  They  crossed  a  broad 
intervale,  and  ahead  of  them  was  a  gap  in  the  hills, 
over  which  the  road  wound  in  a  sort  of  pass.  And 
now  as  they  galloped  up  it  in  the  shadow  of  the  elms 
it  was  as  if  they  had  gone  through  a  narrow  door  into 
a  different  country ;  the  scene  changed,  the  hills  grew 
small,  rugged,  and  broken  ;  the  vegetation  was  less 
rich  ;  they  were  in  New  England.  So  marked  was  it 
that  Wemyss  pointed  out  the  change  ;  even  the  color 
of  the  houses  was  not  the  same,  nor  the  look  of  the 
barns.  They  were  small  and  neat,  and  painted  stern- 
ly white ;  the  very  gates  were  better  hung,  and  the 
sidewalks  more  neatly  trimmed  ;  the  squalid,  unkempt 
look  was  gone,  and  with  it  the  greater  luxuriance. 
One  no  longer  felt  the  vastness  of  the  Continent,  but 
seemed  to  be  in  an  older  corner  of  it,  the  bars  not  yet 
let  down,  where  elbow-room  was  less,  and  ideas  and 
conventions  artificially  preserved.  The  hills  were 
smaller,  and  the  trees  looked  stunted;  human  habita- 


246  First  Harvests. 

tions  had  a  look  like  an  old  dress  which  the  wearer  in 
her  penury  still  struggled  to  keep  neat.  Arthur  was 
reminded  at  once  of  the  look  of  the  land  about  the 
hill-town  to  which  he  had  driven  on  that  day  with 
Gracie.  They  had  crossed  the  line  into  Connecticut, 
and  the  boundary  was  more  marked  than  is  usual  in 
political  divisions.  Even  in  New  York  there  had  been 
a  suggestion  of  the  Western  prairies  ;  here  was  none. 
But  there  was  a  greater  vigor  in  the  air,  which  had  a 
sort  of  moorland  sparkle  in  it ;  and  the  talk  was  live- 
lier than  ever.  They  had  a  long  and  breezy  drive  of 
it,  and  the  cock-horse  was  used  many  times  in  pulling 
up  the  grassy  old  road,  which  led  uncompromisingly 
up  the  barren,  ferny  hills.  For  lunch  they  stopped  at 
a  little  place  called  Lakeville,  nestling  in  the  hills  be- 
tween two  clear  blue  ponds  ;  and  here  John  Haviland 
(having  performed  his  errand)  had  to  leave  them  to 
take  his  train  back  to  the  city. 

In  the  afternoon  Arthur  was  allowed  to  try  his  hand 
at  driving;  he  sat  on  the  box-seat  with  Miss  Farnum, 
who  was  very  silent,  and  Mrs.  Gower  and  Wemyss 
had  the  rear  seat  to  themselves.  Kill  Van  Kull  was 
allowed  to  get  into  the  "  cabin  "  and  go  to  sleep,  a  re- 
freshment which  he  averred  the  country  air  made 
most  needful  to  him.  Behind  him  on  the  middle  seat 
the  party  were  very  noisy,  and  Arthur  had  much  ado 
to  keep  his  attention  on  the  horses,  who  seemed  also 
to  feel  the  tang  of  the  keen  soft  air.  As  they  were 
going  down  a  crooked  hill,  longer  than  he  had  ex- 
pected, so  that  no  shoe  had  been  put  on,  the  horses 
got  almost  beyond  his  control.  He  gathered  the  four 


Arthur   Goes  Home.  247 

reins  together  and  pulled  his  best,  and  just  managed 
to  keep  them  in  the  road.  The  people  behind  were 
laughing  and  talking,  unconscious  of  what  was  going 
on ;  and  Arthur  had  already  begun  to  congratulate 
himself  upon  his  escape,  when,  as  they  were  nearing 
the  bottom,  he  got  too  far  on  the  outer  curve,  and  the 
heavy  wheels  sank  deep  in  the  gravel,  still  wet  with 
the  spring  rains.  One  awful  moment  of  suspense,  and 
then  the  ponderous  vehicle  swayed  heavily,  rolled 
majestically  over  on  its  side.  A  shrill  scream  resound- 
ed behind  him — it  is  not  the  custom  for  American 
girls  to  scream — and  Mrs.  Hay  threw  her  arms  wildly 
around  Lord  Birmingham,  with  the  feminine  instinct 
to  embrace  something  in  emergencies.  But  it  was  of 
no  avail;  and  they  all  sailed  gracefully  off  into  the 
long  grass,  Arthur  still  devotedly  hanging  to  the  reins. 

No  one  was  hurt ;  and  after  a  bare  pause  for  reflec- 
tion, everybody  burst  forth  in  a  roar  of  laughter. 
Loudly  and  long  they  laughed,  holding  their  sides ; 
they  were  laughing  too  much  to  get  up ;  one  horse 
was  down,  and  the  others  rearing  and  plunging.  Van 
Kull  put  his  head  ruefully  out  of  the  window  of  the 
coach  that  was  uppermost  and  contemplated  the  scene. 
His  hat  was  crushed,  he  was  nigh  smothered  with 
shawls  and  veils,  and  his  hair  hanging  down  over  his 
eyes  ;  and  his  head  protruded  slowly,  like  a  disabled 
jack-in-the-box,  amid  the  merriment  of  the  company. 

"  Perhaps,  when  some  of  you  damned  fools  get 
through  laughing,"  said  he,  without  undue  emphasis, 
"  you'll  find  time  to  attend  to  those  leaders." 

Van   Kull's  remark,  though  over-forcible,  was  un- 


248  First  Harvests. 

deniably  just ;  and  Derwent  was  already  at  their 
heads.  The  groom  was  also  there ;  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments the  horses  were  taken  out,  the  coach  set  upright 
again,  and  all  damage  repaired.  Everyone  agreed 
that  the  accident  was  in  nowise  due  to  Arthur's  driv- 
ing, but  entirely  to  the  soft  bit  in  the  road. 

"  These  things  will  happen,  you  know,"  said  Birm- 
ingham, good-naturedly. 

"  It's  half  the  fun,  I  think,"  said  Pussie  Duval. 

"  I  thought  you'd  'a  dumped  'em,  sir,"  said  the 
groom,  "  when  I  see  that  ere  soft  bit  in  the  road." 
And  as  a  mark  of  special  confidence,  Arthur  was 
allowed  to  drive  the  coach  the  rest  of  the  way  into 
Great  Barrington,  where  they  were  to  stop  for  the 
night. 

The  merriment  consequent  on  their  disaster  did 
not  cease  during  the  afternoon,  and  Arthur  was  many 
times  maliciously  thanked  for  the  diversion  he  had  af- 
forded the  party.  But  Miss  Farnum,  who  was  still 
his  companion  on  the  box,  seemed  fortunately  as  much 
inclined  to  silence  as  he  was  himself.  Indeed,  she  had 
been  strangely  silent  all  the  day. 

The  country  roads  gradually  drew  themselves  to- 
gether and  made  themselves  into  the  broad,  straight 
avenue  that  is  Great  Barrington's  main  street ;  and  up 
this  they  swept  gayly,  about  an  hour  before  sunset. 
They  did  not  pass  the  Judge's  old  place ;  but  as  Ar- 
thur heard  Mrs.  Gower's  light  laughter  behind  him 
the  old  scene  in  the  garden  recurred  to  him  at  once. 
It  was  not  yet  a  year  ago :  and  he  remembered  now 
that  the  man  she  had  been  driving  with  was  Wemyss. 


Arthur  Goes  Home.  249 

They  drew  up  merrily  before  the  village  hotel — it 
seemed  so  odd  to  Arthur  to  be  there  in  his  own  town; 
he  had  never  associated  it  with  so  gay  a  party — and 
after  a  few  minutes  of  preparation  they  started  out  to 
see  the  place.  Miss  Farnum  made  pretext  of  a  head- 
ache and  did  not  go  ;  but  the  others  sauntered  along 
beneath  the  overarching  elms.  To  the  left  the  setting 
sun  lay  across  the  intervale  in  broad  gold  bars.  Ar- 
thur was  walking  with  Lord  Birmingham  and  Mrs. 
Hay. 

Coming  back,  they  met  Mrs.  Gower  at  the  dinner- 
table.  "  I  am  sorry,"  said  she,  "Miss  Farnum  has  to 
go  home." 

"  Dear  me,  I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Hay,  politely. 

"  What,  you  don't  mean  she's  going  to  leave  us  ?  " 
said  Lord  Birmingham,  blankly.  He  looked  from 
one  to  the  other  of  the  party,  as  if  asking  an  explana- 
tion. "  She  said  nothing  to  me  about  it,"  he  added, 
naively. 

"  I  have  telegraphed  to  Mrs.  Malgam  to  ask  her  to 
join  us,"  said  Mrs.  Flossie,  hurriedly  checking  the 
general  inclination  to  laugh  that  had  succeeded  his 
lordship's  last  speech.  "  You  need  not  look  so  blank, 
you  men — no  Jack  shall  be  left  without  a  Jill." 

"  A  Jill,"  said  Wemyss,  maliciously,  accentuating 
the  indefinite  article,  and  looking  at  Mrs.  Hay. 

"  'Pon  my  word.  I  think  you're  very  insulting," 
broke  in  Mrs.  Hay,  savagely.  No  one  could  exactly 
see  why;  whereupon  Van  Kull,  with  much  social  dex- 
terity, looked  upon  Mrs.  Hay  and  sighed.  Further 
comment  was  checked  by  the  arrival  of  Miss  Farnum 


250  First  Harvests. 

herself,  who  bore  her  fine  face  quite  as  unconsciously, 
a  shade  more  coldly,  than  usual.  And  then  the  finer 
emotions  gave  place  to  food. 

Arthur  was  honored  by  a  seat  on  Mrs.  Gower's  left ; 
but  he  was  silent  through  the  meal,  a  fact  which  was 
maliciously  attributed  to  the  events  of  the  afternoon. 
"  Don't  look  upset,  Mr.  Holyoke,  please  !  "  cried  Miss 
Duval.  "  We  have  quite  regained  our  composure." 
Arthur  had  not  been  thinking  of  the  accident  at  all ; 
but  he  did  color  again,  to  be  reminded  of  it.  "  It  was 
a  soft  spot  in  the  road,  you  know,"  said  he. 

"A  soft  spot  in  your  heart,  I  much  suspect,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Gower.  "  Miss  Farnum,  you  should  not  have  sat 
with  him." 

"  Who  ? "  said  the  beauty,  bringing  her  gaze  to  a 
focus.  "  Oh,"  she  added,  indifferently.  "  I  ?  " 

"  'Pon  my  word,"  screamed  Mrs.  Wilton  Hay. 
"  You  two  are  too  delicious  !  But  you're  positively 
too  absent-minded  to  be  trusted  together.  Aren't  they 
Mrs.  Gower  ?  They  might  not  have  presence  of  mind 
enough  not  to  elope,  you  know." 

Soon  after  this  Miss  Farnum  left  the  table ;  and 
when  Arthur  followed,  he  found  her  out  upon  the 
doorstep,  talking  with  Lionel  Derwent.  The  sun  had 
gone  down  now,  and  its  last  radiance  came  down  upon 
them  from  some  scarlet  clouds.  Miss  Farnum  went 
in  almost  immediately,  leaving  him  with  Derwent 
alone. 

"  A  lovely  evening,"  said  he.  "  Will  you  take  a 
tramp  ?  " 

Arthur  hesitated.     Then  he  spoke  with  decision. 


Arthur  Goes  Home.  251 

"  Yes.     I  have  a  call  to  make — won't  you  come  with 
me  ?     Miss  Livingstone,  you  know,  and  my  cousin, 
Miss  Holyoke,  are  here — do  you  know  them  ?  " 
"  No,"  said  the  other;  "  but  I  shall  like  to." 
"  Come  along,  then,"  said  Arthur.     And  they  went 
up  the  long  village  street  until  the  road  began  to  twist 
among  the  apple-orchards  and  they  got  into  the  dusk 
that  was  already  at   the  base  of   the  wooded  hills. 
Derwent  pulled  out  a  brierwood  pipe  and  smoked  it, 
and  they  walked  in  silence. 

At  last  they  came  in  front  of  the  dignified  old  house, 
wearing,  like  a  wig,  its  high-pitched  roof  and  white 
balustrade,  with  its  terrace  for  silk  stockings  and  its 
dressed  front  of  quaint  old  flowers  as  a  ruffle  of  old 
lace.  The  gate  creaked  in  its  wonted  way ;  and  they 
walked  up  the  familiar  gravel-walk.  "  The  ladies  were 
at  home ; ''  and  the  two  went  into  the  large  living- 
room,  and  found  Gracie  and  Mamie  Livingstone  to- 
gether. Arthur  shook  hands  with  Mamie,  and  then, 
after  introducing  Mr.  Derwent,  sat  down  by  his  cousin, 
leaving  Mamie  to  his  friend,  a  proceeding  which  the 
latter  noticed.  Derwent  talked  nearly  all  the  time  to 
Mamie,  whose  little  self  he  read  at  once,  but  his  eyes 
wandered  more  than  once  to  Gracie  and  her  cousin. 
Now,  Gracie  Mamie  thought  a  character  far  simpler 
than  herself.  They  all  sat  so  near  that  when  either 
pair  was  silent  the  other's  conversation  could  be  heard. 
Their  call  had  lasted  nearly  an  hour,  when  Miss  Bre- 
vier came  in,  who  was  there,  matronizing  the  young 
people,  for  a  few  days  only.  Then  the  conversation 
became  more  general,  save  that  Derwent  talked  some 


252  First  Harvests. 

half  an  hour,  at  the  end,  with  Miss  Holyoke.  It  was 
after  ten  before  they  rose  to  go. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  Lenox  to-morrow,"  said 
Gracie.  "  And  after  that  ?  " 

"  After  that,  I  don't  know  ;  perhaps  I  shall  come 
here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  you  could  bear  being  at  the  Barring- 
ton  Hotel,"  said  Gracie,  with  a  laugh.  Arthur  bit  his 
lip. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  a  fellow  can  go  somewhere,"  said 
he.  "  I  may  have  to  go  back  to  the  shop.  Where  do 
you  go,  Derwent  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  out  among  the  Rockies  of  British 
Columbia,  hunting,"  said  he.  "  I  wish  you'd  come," 
he  added,  turning  to  Arthur  suddenly,  as  if  the  thought 
had  then  first  struck  him. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Arthur,  ill-naturedly.  "  Unfortu- 
nately, .An  nothing  but  a  broker's  clerk."  But  his 
amour  propre  was  soothed  by  the  evident  increased 
consideration  that  Miss  Livingstone  had  shown  him  ; 
and  even  to  the  last  moment  she  pressed  him  with 
questions,  and  hung  admiringly  upon  his  history  of 
the  trip. 

"  Who  did  you  say  was  with  you  on  the  box  when 
you  upset  ?"  she  said,  as  they  lingered  at  the  doorway. 
The  moon  was  up  by  this  time,  bleaching  all  the 
colored  roses  of  the  terrace  in  its  yellow  light. 

"  Miss  Farnum,"  said  Arthur.  "  But  I  believe  Mrs. 
Malgam  takes  her  place  to-morrow,"  he  added,  care- 
lessly. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Mamie.     "  I'm  fearing  you'll  be  quite 


Arthur  Goes  Home.  253 

too  grand  to  speak  to  me  when  I'm  a  bud."  And  she 
gave  him  a  look — one  of  her  practised  looks — out  of  her 
very  pretty  eyes,  a  look  that  Gracie  never  could  have 
compassed.  Arthur  returned  it,  with  the  skill  of  a 
year's  experience;  meantime,  Derwent  was  taking 
leave  of  the  others,  and  they  soon  were  walking  home 
together — that  is,  to  the  Great  Barrington  Hotel. 

"  A  charming  girl,"  said  Derwent. 

"  Who  ?"  said  Arthur,  curtly. 

"  Miss  Livingstone,"  said  the  other,  after  a  pause. 
"  Your  young  New  York  girls  are  such  delicate  flowers 
— and  yet  so  hardy,  too.  And  they  can  be  trained  to 
almost  anything." 

Arthur  did  not  sleep  well  that  night ;  but  the  morn- 
ing was  a  lovely  one  again.  They  had  to  wait  until 
the  New  York  train  arrived,  which  was  not  until  the 
afternoon,  for  Mrs.  Malgam.  Kitty  Farnum  had 
started  off  quietly,  early  in  the  morning,  and  Derwent 
had  gone  with  her,  meaning  to  see  her  safely  to  New 
Haven,  where  her  maid  would  meet  her,  and  then  take 
the  return  train  back  with  Mrs.  Malgam.  Lord  Bir- 
mingham had  been  too  dull  to  think  of  this  proceeding, 
and  was  in  a  vicious  humor  all  the  day  in  consequence. 
Arthur  was  in  two  minds  about  going  to  see  Gracie 
in  the  morning.  But  as  Birmingham  sulked  all  day, 
there  were  not  men  enough  without  him  ;  so  he  went 
to  walk  with  Mrs.  Hay  instead.  Mrs.  Hay  was  one 
of  those  women  whose  flirting  was  less  intellectual 
than  the  American  type ;  she  delighted  chiefly  in 
appealing  to  men's  senses ;  and  her  company  was  not 
ennobling. 


254  First  Harvests. 

But  in  the  afternoon  appeared  Mrs.  Malgam,  clothed 
in  the  loveliest  of  smiles  and  spring  dresses.  If  she 
had  any  grudge  against  Flossie,  she  did  not  show  it ; 
but  spoke  to  her  caressingly,  and  with  a  certain  defer- 
ence, as  from  a  giddy  young  girl  to  her  chaperone. 
And  then,  as  if  her  conscience  were  safely  in  Flossie's 
charge,  she  inaugurated  a  most  audacious  and  osten- 
tatious love-affair  with  the  peer ;  that  is,  she  caused  him 
to  inaugurate  it.  Baby  Malgam  never  inaugurated 
anything ;  she  only  looked  as  if  she  understood  it.  A 
pan  of  cream,  indeed ;  not  milk  and  water ;  opaque, 
unfathomable  to  the  eye,  and  yet,  perhaps,  not  deep. 
Wemyss  talked  with  Arthur  about  it.  "  You  are  the 
only  fellow  left  whom  one  can  talk  to,"  said  he. 
"  Birmingham's  too  dull,  and  Derwent's  not  a  man  of 
the  world."  Arthur's  heart  warmed  to  him  at  once. 
"  Baby  Malgam,"  said  he,  "  means  to  beat  Mrs.  Gower 
on  her  own  ground." 

This  was  said  on  the  way  to  Lenox.  At  five  the 
horses  were  brought  up  to  the  door;  the  brilliant 
party  were  again  in  their  familiar  seats,  and  bowling 
briskly  over  the  well-made  roads.  And  our  hero  was 
himself  again  ;  and  the  exhilaration  of  the  motion, 
and  the  bright  eyes  and  pretty  dresses,  and  the  trained 
flattery  of  their  most  desirable  owners,  and  the  admi- 
ration of  the  populace — to  him  as  to  them,  was  the 
breath  of  his  nostrils. 

' '  A  woman's  looks 
Are  barbed  hooks, 
That  catch  by  art 
The  strongest  heart," 


Arthur   Goes  Home.  255 

says  the  old  Elizabethan  poet ;  but  they  swallowed 
the  hooks  in  those  days. 

So  they  came  to  Lenox  ;  Lenox  of  the  sleepy  hills, 
and  sweet  wild  roads,  and  shady  green  seclusion. 
Here  were  the  first  good  roads  they  had  seen  since 
they  left  Mrs.  Gower's  home ;  and  Van  Kull  "  let 
out  "  the  horses,  and  they  galloped  like  a  summer 
storm.  And  the  gayety  seemed  redoubled  since  Mrs. 
Malgam's  arrival.  Lord  Birmingham  was  evidently 
drinking  her  in  like  some  new  sort  of  wine  ;  Derwent 
alone  was  silent  and  abstracted.  So  they  were  none 
of  them  sorry  when  he  told  them  that  he,  too,  must 
leave  at  Lenox.  In  the  evening,  he  got  a  long  walk 
with  Arthur,  and  spoke  most  bitterly  about  them  all. 
"  As  for  Mrs.  Hay,"  he  said,  "  she's  hardly  worth 
considering ;  she  only  injures  men,  and  men  who 
are  her  mates.  But  Mrs.  Gower  is  a  woman  who 
has  successively  sought  and  successively  attained,  or 
appeared  to  attain,  every  height,  every  good  thing, 
and  every  great  place  in  turn,  in  order  that  she 
might  vulgarize  it.  She  has  mounted  every  sum- 
mit but  to  make  it  hers.  Do  you  see  how  Mrs. 
Malgam,  and  Miss  Duval,  and  all  the  others  ape 
her?" 

Arthur  thought  him  very  ill-bred  and  rude  to  this 
most  charming  hostess,  and  almost  dared  to  say  so. 
Derwent  pulled  out  his  brier-wood  pipe,  and  they 
walked  on  in  silence. 

"  Now,"  the  other  went  on,  "  take  another  sort  of 
girl — a  girl  like  your  friend  Miss  Holyoke,  for  in- 
stance  " 


256  First  Harvests. 

"  I  don't  see  what  Miss  Holyoke  has  to  do  with  the 
case,"  said  Arthur,  goading  himself  into  a  passion. 
And  the  walk  ended — purposely,  so  far  as  Arthur  was 
concerned — in  a  sort  of  quarrel.  Coming  back,  he 
found  Mrs.  Malgam  walking  in  the  lawn  of  Mrs. 
Gower's  cottage,  and  joined  her,  and  found  solace  after 
the  Englishman's  asperity. 

Mrs.  Malgam  was  dressed  in  a  faultless  summer 
gown,  and  wore  the  famous  pearls  that  she  had 
bought  with  the  estate  of  her  first  husband.  Arthur 
revenged  himself  by  repeating  to  her  all  Derwent's 
conversation. 

"  I  am  glad  he's  going,"  said  she.  "  He's  the  most 
cynical  person  I  ever  met ;  and  I  hate  cynicism." 

"  Who's  that  you're  talking  of  ? "  said  Wemyss, 
coming  up. 

"  Derwent,"  said  Arthur.  "  We're  both  glad  he's 
going." 

"  Oh,  Derwent  is  quite  impossible,"  said  Wemyss. 
"  He's  well  enough  at  a  dinner  where  they  feed  the 
lions,  but  quite  out  of  his  place  in  society.  The  fel- 
low's a  crank,  too ;  just  the  sort  of  a  man  who  ends 
by  marrying  a  woman  of  the  demi-monde." 

"  By  way  of  reformation,  I  suppose,'-  laughed  Mrs. 
Malgam.  Arthur  walked  with  her  some  time,  as 
Wemyss  left  upon  this  last  bon  mot ;  and  the  next 
day,  when  they  came  together  after  breakfast,  there 
was  no  trace  of  Derwent. 

"  Do  you  know  he's  a  friend  of  Chinese  Gordon  ?  " 
said  Lord  Birmingham. 

"  I  should  think,  quite  possible,"  said  Wemyss.    "  I 


Arthur  Goes  Home.  257 

hope  we'll  get  a  better  fellow  in  his  place — a  gentle- 
man, at  least,"  he  added,  sotto  voce. 

"  They  say  he  belongs  to  one  of  the  oldest  families 
in  Northumberland,  do  you  know,"  said  Mrs,  Hay. 

"  All  rot,"  said  Wemyss ;  "  I  believe  him  to  be  a 
mere  adventurer — nothing  more." 

"  Well,"  said  Flossie,  "  I've  written  to  Tony  Duval 
in  his  place." 

"  Oh,  dear  ! "  cried  Pussie.  "  I  hate  to  go  about 
with  Tony ;  or,  rather,  he  says  he  hates  to  go  about 
with  me.  He  says  he  can't  have  any  fun  while  I'm 
around." 

"  He  hates  to  flirt  before  his  little  sister,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Gower.  "  Never  mind,  dear — I  think  you'll 
soon  be  even  with  him."  And  when  Tony  Duval  ar- 
rived, all  his  simple  soul  went  out  to  Mrs.  Hay. 
"  She  is  the  finest  woman  I  ever  saw,"  he  would  say 
to  Arthur,  almost  with  a  sigh.  And  he  sent  to  Long 
Island  for  his  two  best  blooded  horses ;  and  the  first 
day  they  rode  out  he  spilled  Mrs.  Hay  over  a  four- 
barred  fence,  just  as  they  were  returning,  and  brought 
the  fair  burden  home  in  his  brawny  arms.  Her  eyes 
unclosed  soon  after  she  was  in  the  house  ;  and  she  was 
not  seriously  injured.  And  Arthur,  who  had  indited 
a  telegram  to  Wilton  Hay  at  Washington,  sensibly 
put  the  despatch  in  his  pocket. 

So  the  days  went  by  delightfully.  Arthur  had 
fears  that  he  was  sometimes  the  odd  man  ;  but  after 
all,  they  seemed  to  like  him  pretty  well ;  and  if  even 
Pussie  Duval  failed  him,  there  were  other  fair  in 
Lenox  with  no  cavaliers  imported,  like  the  fruit  in 
17 


258  First  Harvests. 

the  hampers,  from  the  city.  So  June  waned  toward 
July,  and  everyone  almost  cheered  at  Flossie  Gower's 
proposal  that  they  should  have  one  more  drive — to 
Lake  George — before  they  parted.  This  new  excur- 
sion was  duly  chronicled  in  all  the  newspapers,  where 
Mamie  Livingstone,  eager,  and  perhaps  a  little  envi- 
ous, saw  it.  Arthur  wrote  and  got  his  leave  of  ab- 
sence extended  at  the  office.  They  were  easy-going 
people  at  the  office. 

Meantime,  Derwent  was  "  hunting  big  game  "  out 
in  the  Rockies,  and  Charlie  Townley  was  sweltering 
in  the  city — "  working  like  a  dog,  by  Jove,"  he  would 
say — at  the  affairs  of  Messrs.  Townley  &  Tamms. 
And  Gracie  Holyoke  was  in  great  Harrington,  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A   HOUSE   BUILT  WITH   HANDS. 

JHARLIE  TOWNLEY'S  ways  were  not 
like  the  ways  of  other  young  stock-brokers. 
He  worked  at  the  most  unusual  times, 
and  usually  made  ostentation  of  idleness. 
Many  others  much  delighted  him  by  thinking  him  a 
fool,  chiefly  because  he  wore  a  single  eye-glass ;  and 
had  a  drawl,  up-town.  He  had  begun  the  summer 
— in  the  latter  part  of  May,  after  Arthur  had  gone  to 
Mrs.  Grower's — by  showing  a  considerable  amount  of 
attention  to  no  greater  a  person  than  Miss  Mamie 
Livingstone  ;  thereby  delighting  her  (as  yet  rudimen- 
tary) soul.  The  rest  of  his  mind  seemed  given,  as 
usual,  to  his  person,  his  other  equipages,  and  the  va- 
rious fashionable  meetings  of  the  season.  His  homage 
to  Miss  Mamie  had  been  of  the  ostentatious  variety, 
rendered  at  races  and  at  horse-shows.  He  had  even 
invited  her  to  drive  out  to  the  Hill-and-Dale  Club 
with  him  in  his  dog-cart ;  and  it  had  only  been  as  a 
favor  reluctantly  accorded  to  Grade  that  she  had  not 
gone.  Mamie  was  convinced  that  such  an  expedition 
would  make  her  the  most  talked  of  debutante  of  the 
coming  season  ;  and  she  knew  that  in  society  (as  per- 
haps in  other  things  to-day)  the  main  element  of  sue- 


260  First  Harvests. 

cess  is  advertisement.  When  an  article  has  once 
attracted  notice,  a  clever  person  can  make  that  notice 
favorable  or  the  reverse  almost  at  will. 

But  Gracie  was  gaining  a  very  powerful  influence 
over  Mamie — almost  as  powerful  as  all  the  world  out- 
side. Her  parents  possessed  none;  they  were  not 
only  of  a  previous  generation,  but  ex  officio  prejudiced 
advisers  ;  the  girl  of  the  period  holds  their  evidence 
almost  as  cheaply  as  the  business  man  holds  his  min- 
ister's upon  theological  subjects.  Herein  also  was  she 
a  girl  of  our  age,  when  men  go  to  Ingersoll  and  Tyn- 
dall  for  their  theories  of  the  unknown  God,  and  their 
wives  to  faith-cures  and  esoteric  Buddhism  for  the 
practice  of  Christianity,  and  leave  the  outworn  Script- 
ures. Still,  a  nature  like  Gracie's  had  its  effect,  even 
upon  a  girl  like  Mamie.  She  was  too  quick  not  to  be 
conscious  of  this,  and  sought  to  make  it  up  by  chaff- 
ing and  patronizing  her  elder  cousin. 

When  Gracie  persuaded  Mamie  to  go  with  her  to 
Great  Barrington,  Charlie  was  left  entirely  to  his  own 
devices.  Some  reader  may  say,  his  vices  ;  but  Char- 
lie was  not  more  vicious  than  another.  He  was  al- 
most alone — always  excepting  Mr.  Phineas  Tamms — 
in  the  office  that  summer.  He  showed,  nevertheless, 
no  desire  to  get  away,  but  manifested  a  very  strict  at- 
tention to  business.  If  Arthur  had  but  known  it,  he 
had  only  been  asked  in  Charlie's  place  upon  the 
coaching  party  ;  but  Charlie  was  one  who  never  made 
himself  the  cause  of  another's  knowing  a  disagreeable 
fact.  He  had  his  room  permanently  taken  at  Man- 
hattan Beach  ;  and  he  divided  his  leisure  between  this 


A  House  Built  with  Hands.          261 

and  divers  clubs,  urban  and  suburban.  Occasionally 
he  passed  a  Sunday  on  the  yacht  of  an  acquaint- 
ance. 

Old  Mr.  Townley  still  dropped  into  the  office  two 
or  three  times  a  week ;  he  still  fancied  their  reputa- 
tion unchanged,  and  the  business  the  same  as  in  the 
old  concern  of  Charles  Townley  &  Son,  before  they 
had  helped  young  Tamms  out  of  difficulties  and  given 
him  a  clerkship  in  the  firm  ;  and  he  bobbed  his  gray 
head  sagely  over  Tamms's  exposition  of  his  plans. 
Business  was  quiet  enough.  But  after  the  old  gentle- 
man had  fairly  gone  to  Newport  for  the  summer, 
things  seemed  to  take  a  little  start.  Tamms's  family 
were  away,  his  wife  and  two  showy  daughters  travell- 
ing in  Europe  by  themselves,  and  spending  a  great 
deal  of  money.  Tamms  himself  lived  at  a  small  hotel 
down  at  Long  Branch,  where  he  had  his  private  wire, 
and  where  he  would  occasionally  rest  a  day  in  rustic 
seclusion,  having  his  mail  and  stock-reports  brought 
down  to  him  to  read.  For  Tamms  never  read  books : 
like  Mrs.  Gower,  he  preferred  the  realities. 

One  day  early  in  August  Charlie  was  invited  to  go 
down  and  spend  the  night  with  his  master,  "the 
Governor,"  as  Charlie  termed  him.  He  marvelled 
much  at  this,  and  went  with  much  curiosity,  never 
having  witnessed  any  of  Mr.  Tamms's  domestic  ar- 
rangements. He  knew  that  Tamms's  womankind 
were  travelling  abroad  ;  for  he  had  had  frequent  oc- 
casion to  cash  their  drafts.  He  had  often  speculated 
at  their  lack  of  social  ambition  on  this  side  the  ocean, 
and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  either  be- 


262  First  Harvests. 

cause  they  thought  it  easier  "  over  there,"  or  because 
Tamms  deemed  the  time  had  not  come  for  that  as 
yet.  But  if  not,  why  not  ? 

Charlie  took  a  little  leather  satchel  with  him,  filled 
with  railway  reports,  letters,  telegrams,  prospec- 
tuses, and  other  business  documents.  The  boat  was 
crammed  with  excursionists,  clerks  and  their  female 
friends,  common  people,  as  Charlie  would  have  called 
them,  evidently  going  down  and  back  for  the  sail. 
Charlie  secured  a  stool  upon  the  upper  deck,  lit  a 
cigar,  and  buried  his  thoughts  in  the  stock-report  of 
the  afternoon  paper ;  while  the  steamer  made  its  way 
down  the  teeming  harbor,  by  the  base  of  the  statue  of 
Liberty,  then  being  erected,  past  a  Russian  man-of- 
war,  and  through  the  green-shored  Narrows. 

To  a  patriot  turned  pessimist,  there  is  something 
typical  in  the  Jersey  shore,  the  first  American  coast 
one  sees  in  coming  from  the  other  world.  Think  of 
the  last  coast  you  leave — Cornwall,  for  instance — with 
its  bold  rocks,  its  glorious  cliffs,  its  lofty  castles  that 
have  been  strongholds,  at  least,  of  courage  and  of 
faith  ;  fit  selvage  for  a  land  which  sometime  felt  the 
nobility  and  the  sacrifice  of  life.  And  then  look  at 
the  long,  low,  monotonous  strip  of  sand,  the  ragged, 
mean  bank  of  crumbling  clay,  where  the  continent 
merely  seems,  as  it  were,  sawed  off,  and  ends  with  as 
little  majesty  as  some  new  railway  embankment.  On 
the  little  bluff  a  gaudy  row  of  cheap,  undurable 
houses  and  hotels ;  even  the  sea  seems  but  an  anti- 
climax, a  necessary  but  uninspiring  end  of  things,  de- 
void of  dignity  if  not  of  danger.  But  the  Jersey 


A  House  Built  with  Hands.         263 

shore  is  not  the  coast  of  all  the  continent,  nor  is  the 
city  of  New  York  America. 

Charlie  was  not  troubled  by  these  things;  they 
seemed  as  natural  to  him  as  the  pink  strip  that  marks 
the  boundary  of  an  atlas  map.  New  York  was  an 
excellent  place  to  make  money  in ;  and  these  things 
go  well  with  materialism.  The  boat  made  its  land- 
ing, and  Charlie  walked  up  the  long  pier  through  the 
crowd — a  crowd  of  summer  boarders,  seeking  rest, 
and  who,  finding  rest  a  bore,  had  come  down  to 
see  the  evening  steamer  land,  for  the  sake  of  ex- 
citement. The  great  rollers  foamed  in  beneath  the 
pier,  lashing  the  piles  indignantly ;  and  the  sea  on 
either  side  was  speckled  with  bathers — children,  men, 
and  women,  the  last  looking  their  unloveliest  in  bath- 
ing-gowns. 

The  avenue  at  the  pier-head  was  crammed  with 
carriages — ladies,  bored  with  the  long  day,  who  had 
come  there  for  the  last  faint  simulacrum  of  pleasure 
that  the  being  seen  in  their  own  equipages  still  af- 
forded them ;  other  ladies  waiting  for  their  tired  hus- 
bands from  the  city.  In  a  handsome  victoria  with 
two  long-tailed  horses  Charlie  made  out  his  host ;  and 
throwing  up  his  overcoat  and  satchel,  took  his  seat 
beside  him. 

"  Hot  in  town?"  said  Tamms,  laconically. 

"  Beastly,"  answered  Charlie. 

"We  might  as  well  take  a  drive,  I  suppose;  there's 
nothing  else  to  do  before  dinner." 

Charlie  silently  assented  ;  and  they  took  their  way 
along  the  red-clay  road  ;  on  the  left  the  wooden  walk 


264  First  Harvests. 

and  railing  above  the  gullied  bank  that  met  the  sea, 
on  the  right  a  long  succession  of  eating-houses  and 
candy  stores;  then  huge  barracks  of  hotels,  then  fan- 
tastic wooden  villas,  which  wildest  fantasies  of  paint 
and  stained  shingles  had  sought  to  torture  into  archi- 
tecture. Not  a  tree  was  to  be  seen  ;  and  the  vast  as- 
semblage of  human  habitations  in  the  sandy  plain  re- 
sembled more  a  village  of  prairie  dogs  than  anything 
else  a  traveller's  mind  could  have  suggested. 

"  Land  is  immensely  valuable  here,"  said  Tamms. 
"  That's  Deacon  Thompson's  place ;  he  paid  thirty 
thousand  for  it  two  years  ago,  and  he  says  he's  been 
offered  fifty  since."  Charlie  looked  at  the  red-and- 
green  structure,  with  its  little  paddock  of  lawn,  and 
felt  that  it  would  not  satisfy  him ;  and  yet  he  pos- 
sessed not  even  thirty  thousand  dollars.  "  Pretty 
place,"  said  Tamms. 

Charlie  assented.  "  Now  what  does  a  man  like 
that  want  money  for?"  he  argued  to  himself.  But 
Tamms,  having  paid  this  tribute  to  the  aesthetic  side 
of  life,  proceeded  to  open  his  telegrams,  and  cast  a 
hasty  eye  on  the  stock  reports  in  Charlie's  paper ; 
then  they  both  conversed  of  stocks  and  bonds.  And 
after  driving  some  three  miles  above  the  water  (which 
made  continual  murmur  at  their  feet)  they  drove  back 
the  way  they  came.  At  Elberon,  Tamms  pointed 
out  the  cottage  where  Garfield  died. 

"  I  see  the  Starbuck  Oil  has  declared  its  usual  div- 
idend," said  Charlie,  watching  his  chief  closely.  "  The 
boys  say  it  wasn't  earned." 

"  I  don't  suppose  the  directors  would  have  paid  it 


A  House  Built  with  Hands.         265 

if  they  hadn't  earned  it,"  said  Tamms,  sharply.  Now 
Tamms,  since  they  had  purchased  the  control,  was 
one  of  the  directors. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  said  Charlie.  "  I  was  merely  say- 
ing what  the  boys  say." 

"  Humph  !  "  was  all  the  reply  his  host  vouchsafed 
to  this ;  and  by  this  time  they  were  driving  into  the 
carefully  pebbled  avenue  of  "  The  Mistletoe,"  which 
was  Mr.  Tamms's  abode.  It  was  a  small  hotel,  partly 
surrounded  by  glass  galleries,  in  one  of  which  three 
young  men  were  sitting  at  a  lunch-table,  over  claret 
and  seltzer  and  liqueurs,  though  it  was  after  six 
o'clock.  The  house  was  most  ornately  furnished  ;  a 
little  yellow-haired  girl  of  twelve,  dressed  in  pale  lilac 
silk,  with  a  short  skirt,  and  mauve  silk  stockings  on  her 
long  little  legs,  was  standing  at  the  counter  talking  to 
the  clerk.  All  the  servants  were  in  livery,  and  Charlie 
made  a  mental  note  that  the  place  was  unexpectedly 
"  swell." 

"  You  want  to  go  up  to  your  room  before  dinner, 
I  suppose,"  said  Tamms,  as  if  making  a  concession  to 
Charlie's  juvenile  weaknesses.  Charlie  found  his  room 
a  small  apartment,  with  a  rather  expensive  carpet 
and  a  most  overpowering  wall-paper ;  and  it  had  the 
unusual  luxury  of  a  dressing-room  attached.  The 
sea  was  quite  out  of  sight ;  but  his  room  looked  out 
upon  the  dusty  street,  and  a  printed  placard  on  the 
wall  informed  him  that  its  cost  was  twelve  dollars  a 
day.  There  was  neither  view,  nor  hills,  nor  country, 
nor  even  trees  (save  a  line  of  petted  young  oaks  that 
gave  the  place  its  name),  in  sight ;  but  in  every  di- 


266  First  Harvests. 

rection  the  eye  was  met  by  scores  upon  scores  of 
wooden  houses;  and  on  the  clipped  grass  that  strug- 
gled with  the  red-clay  plain  the  sun's  rays  still  beat 
mercilessly. 

They  dined  sumptuously ;  and  had  champagne, 
which  was,  with  Tamms,  the  only  alternative  for 
water.  A  score  or  so  of  richly  dressed  ladies,  with 
their  husbands,  were  at  the  tables,  including  the  little 
girl  in  lilac  silk,  who  drank  champagne  also.  The 
mother  of  the  little  girl — a  magnificent  woman,  with 
black  hair,  carefully  dressed,  like  a  salad — sat  oppo- 
site them  ;  and  her  husband  leaned  his  elbow  on  the 
table  and  his  beard  upon  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and 
talked  to  Tamms,  between  the  courses.  Charlie  was 
introduced  as  "a  young  man  in  my  office,"  and  was 
treated  by  the  lady  with  undissembled  scorn  ;  indeed, 
she  condescended  even  to  Tamms.  And  Charlie 
felt  all  the  delight  of  some  explorer  landed  among  sav- 
ages, who  prefer  colored  beads  to  diamonds.  "  Pos- 
itively,'* thought  Charlie,  "  she  does  not  even  know 
that  I  am  Charlie  Townley  !  "  Mrs.  Haberman  cer- 
tainly did  not,  and  would  have  refused  him  her 
daughter's  hand  in  marriage,  that  evening,  had  he 
asked  for  it.  And  again  it  occurred  to  Charlie  that 
wealth  was  the  one  universal  good,  after  all. 

Tamms  certainly  thought  so ;  and  when  they  got 
out  on  the  piazza.,  began  to  talk  about  it.  "  Mr. 
Townley,"  said  he,  "  I  think  I  have  observed  that 
while  you  are  not  over-attentive  to  the  business,  you 
can  keep  a  secret." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir,"  said  Charlie. 


A  House  Built  with  Hands.         267 

"  The  fact  is,  the  Starbuck  Oil  Company  has  proved 
a  very  bad  investment  indeed  for  the  Allegheny  Cen- 
tral Railroad  Company." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Charlie,  sympathetically,  but  as 
if  inviting  further  confidence.  Tamms  looked  at  him 
for  a  moment,  and  then  went  on  : 

"  The  oil  works  showed  the  usual  profit,  but  upon 
closing  the  accounts  of  the  first  year  of  the  new  termi- 
nal enterprise,  we  find  that  the  property  has  failed  to 
pay  even  its  running  expenses.  In  fact  the  company 
will  probably  default  on  the  next  coupon  of  the  Ter- 
minal bonds. — How  many  of  them  have  we  left  ?  " 

Charlie  was  silent  a  moment,  as  if  to  count. 

"  Only  a  little  over  a  hundred  thousand,"  said 
Charlie,  "  not  counting  those  we  are  carrying  for  our 
customers." 

"  You  will  of  course  have  to  look  after  their  mar- 
gins," said  Tamms,  absent-mindedly.  "  Sell  at  once 
if  they  do  not  respond." 

("The  old  Shylock!")  thought  Charlie.  "Cer- 
tainly, sir,"  he  said.  "  Shall  I  sell  the  hundred  thou- 
sand we  have  left  of  our  own  ?  " 

Tamms  looked  at  our  young  friend  sternly.  "  And 
profit  by  our  official  knowledge  of  the  coming  de- 
fault ?  Certainly  not,  sir.  We  will  bear  our  loss 
with  the  rest."  And  Tamms  drew  himself  up  and 
placed  his  right  hand  in  the  breast  of  his  black  frock- 
coat,  much  as  if  he  were  addressing  posterity — or  a 
newspaper  reporter,  as  Charlie  reflected.  This  sud- 
den high  moral  attitude  was  admirable,  if  inexplic- 
able. 


268  First  Harvests. 

"  But,"  said  Charlie,  "  the  bonds  being  guaranteed 
by  the  Allegheny  Central  Railroad " 

"Guaranteed  by  the  Allegheny  Central  ?"  inter- 
rupted Tamms,  in  astonishment,  his  whity-blue  eyes 
opened  to  their  fullest  extent. 

"  That  was  certainly  my  impression,  sir,"  faltered 
Charlie.  For  he  remembered  that  he  himself  had 
composed  a  newspaper  item  to  that  effect. 

"  Here  is  the  original  circular  under  which  the 
bonds  were  issued,"  said  Tamms,  with  dignity;  and 
Charlie  cast  his  eye  over  it  timorously.  There  was 
certainly  nothing  in  it  about  a  guaranty,  though  Char- 
lie had  a  distinct  impression  that  when  the  bonds 
were  "  listed"  on  the  Stock  Exchange  this  had  been 
the  general  understanding.  "  You  must  be  thinking 
of  some  mere  newspaper  rumor,"  added  Tamms. 

"Very  possibly,  sir,"  Charlie  replied,  meekly;  and 
just  then  an  elaborately  dressed  woman  of  rather  flam- 
boyant appearance  passed  through  the  glass-covered 
piazza,  in  which  they  were  sitting,  and  Mr.  Tamms 
scrambled  hastily  upon  his  feet  and  bowed.  Charlie 
followed  suit,  though  surprised  at  this  unusual  demon- 
stration of  his  impassive  principal ;  and  as  he  looked 
at  him,  he  fancied  that  he  saw  the  faintest  trace  of 
some  embarrassment. 

"  She  is  not  a  guest  of  the  hotel,"  said  Tamms. 
"  Her  name  is  Beaumont,  I  believe  ;  she  owns  an  ad- 
joining cottage." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Charlie.  "  That  is  very  bad  for 
people  who  own  the  stock." 

"  Own  what  stock  ?  "  said  Tamms. 


A  House  Built  with  Hands.          269 

"  The  Starbuck  Oil,"  said  Charlie,  in  a  tone  as  if 
adding  "  of  course." 

"  Oh,  ah,  yes,"  said  Tamms.  "  It  is  most  unfortu- 
nate. Still,  they  should  have  exchanged  it  for  Al- 
legheny Central  when  we  gave  them  the  chance." 

Charlie  suddenly  remembered  that  all  the  stock 
had  not  been  exchanged. 

"  I  suppose  our  people  hold  a  majority,  of  course," 
said  Charlie.  And  again  he  looked  at  Tamms. 

But  to  this  Mr.  Tamms  vouchsafed  no  answer ;  he 
apparently  did  not  hear  it,  for  he  was  already  rising 
and  putting  on  his  gloves.  "  Shall  we  take  a  stroll  ?" 

"  I  should  like  nothing  better,"  said  Charlie,  heart- 
ily ;  and  Tamms  having  sent  for  two  cigars  (for 
which,  as  Charlie  noted,  he  paid  fifty  cents  apiece), 
they  took  their  way  across  the  close-cropped  lawn. 

"  That,  I  am  told,"  said  Mr.  Tamms,  pointing  to  a 
gayly  lighted  pagoda  opposite,  "  which  they  call  the 
Maryland  Club,  is  in  reality  nothing  better  than  a 
gambling  house." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Charlie. 

"  It  is  an  outrage  upon  our  civilization  that  such  so- 
cial plague-spots  are  openly  tolerated  ;  "  a  sentiment 
from  which  Charlie  could  not  withhold  his  assent, 
though  he  was  glad  the  darkness  prevented  Mr. 
Tamms  from  seeing  the  smile  which  accompanied  it. 
Nothing  more  was  said  between  them  for  some  time ; 
Mr.  Tamms  was  evidently  wrapped  in  thoughts  of 
business,  and  Charlie  for  his  part  was  considering  that 
previous  state  of  her  existence,  in  which  he  had 
known  Mrs.  Beaumont  before. 


270  First  Harvests. 

So  musing,  they  came  to  the  plank-walk  above  the 
sea ;  it  was  almost  deserted  of  promenaders,  and  be- 
low it,  from  the  darkness  of  the  night,  came  in  the 
long  ocean  rollers,  shining  whitely  on  the  shallow 
beach,  as  if  gifted  with  some  radiance  of  their  own. 
They  leaned  some  time  over  a  railing  by  a  bath-pa- 
vilion, and  watched  the  breakers  in  silence  ;  some  wo- 
men were  in  the  sea — it  was  the  servants  from  the 
hotel,  bathing  in  the  only  hour  that  was  allowed  to 
them.  And  from  the  great  hotel  behind  them  came 
some  vulgar  music  from  a  band. 

"  They  are  having  a  ball  at  the  Beau-Monde  to- 
night, I  believe,"  said  Tamms,  at  last.  "  Would  you 
like  to  look  in  ?  " 

Charlie  professed  his  willingness  ;  and  they  walked 
across  the  dusty  street  to  the  huge  caravanserai,  its 
hundred  windows  flaming  with  light.  They  found 
the  veranda  crowded  with  perhaps  a  thousand  people, 
sitting  in  groups,  the  ladies  in  white  or  low-necked 
dresses,  their  diamond  ear-rings  flashing  thick  as  fire- 
flies above  a  summer  swamp.  Among  them  were  nu- 
merous Jews  and  Jewesses ;  the  latter,  at  least,  a 
splendid,  full-blooded,  earth-compelling  race,  though 
their  males  more  wizened.  In  the  great  ball-room 
some  score  or  more  of  children  were  dancing  to  a 
waltz,  but  no  grown  people  as  yet.  These  were  as 
elegantly  attired  as  their  parents,  only  that  they  did 
not  wear  low-necked  gowns,  but  in  lieu  of  this  had 
short  skirts  and  gay  silk  stockings  reaching  well 
above  the  knee.  Among  them  was  the  twelve-year- 
old  miss  in  lilac  from  the  Mistletoe ;  and  many  of 


A  House  Built  with  Hands.         271 

these  had  already  diamond  solitaires  and  more  than 
the  airs  and  graces  of  a  woman  of  the  world.  Their 
cheeks  were  flushed,  and  their  long  hair  tossing  about 
them  ;  some  few  were  romping  frankly,  but  most 
were  too  Dignified  for  this  ;  and  as  their  silk  sashes 
fluttered  and  their  silk  stockings  twinkled  in  the 
dance,  they  were  undeniably  a  pretty  sight,  and  might 
have  been  a  pleasant  one,  to  their  mothers.  But  I 
think  a  country  hay-mow  had  been  better  for  them. 

But  these  same  mothers  were  sitting  on  the  piazza 
outside,  not  yet  too  old  to  flirt,  and  taking  more 
pleasure  in  showing  off  their  dresses  than  perhaps 
their  children  did,  as  yet.  And  those  who  were  too 
ill-favored  by  Heaven  for  this  could  at  least  talk 
about  spending  money,  and  about  each  other. 
Tamms  soon  found  a  congenial  group,  a  group  con- 
sisting of  Mrs.  Beaumont  and  himself;  and  Charlie 
Avas  left  to  his  own  devices.  He  drifted  into  the  bar- 
room and  took  a  drink,  by  way  of  killing  time  ;  and 
thereabout  he  found  the  husbands  mostly  congre- 
gated. And,  as  their  wives  had  been  talking  of  spend- 
ing money,  they  were  talking  about  making  it ;  and 
Charlie  listened  some  time  and  then  went  home 
alone. 

When  he  got  to  the  Mistletoe,  he  called  for  a  tele- 
graph blank  and  wrote  a  telegram  to  Mrs.  Levison 
Gower.  It  ran  as  follows  : 

"  I  think  you  had  better  sell  your  Starbuck  Oil. 
Who  is  attending  to  your  affairs  in  town  ?  C.  T." 

Surely,  with  all  his  faults,  our  friend  thus  proved 
himself  a  knight  faithful  and  loyal,  d  la  mode.  But 


272  First  Harvests. 

having  written  it,  Charlie  remembered  that  he  did  not 
know  where  to  send  it ;  for  Mrs.  Gower  was  off  in  a 
chariot  which  bore  no  freight  of  worldly  care.  Was 
she  not  mistress  of  Aladdin's  lamp  ?  She  had  but 
to  rub  a  finger,  and  all  things  were  heaped  at  her 
feet.  Aye ;  but  the  slaves  of  the  lamp,  who  were 
they  ?  Suppose  they  were  not  faithful ;  suppose  they 
proved  unruly  and  rose  up  in  revolt  ?  Did  not  even 
an  Aladdin's  slave  turn  out  to  be  one  of  the  Genii  ? 

Townley  liked  Mrs.  Gower,  and  did  not  wish  her  to 
be  humbled.  Socially,  she  helped  him  still.  Should 
he  say  Lenox  ?  He  thought  a  moment  ;  and  the  up- 
shot of  his  deliberations  was  a  resolve  to  do  nothing 
for  a  day  at  least.  Whereupon  he  went  to  bed,  and, 
let  us  hope,  to  pleasant  dreams. 

For  he  could  not  quite  account  for  Tamms's  virtu- 
ous refusal  to  sell  their  own  bonds  before  the  coming 
default. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    SLAVES    OF   THE   LAMP. 

|OU  had  better  not  go  back  to-day,"  said 
Mr.  Tamms  to  Charlie  when  he  came 
down  in  the  morning.  "  They  can  get 
along  without  you  at  the  office ;  besides, 
I  should  like  you  to  drive  with  me  to  Ocean  Grove." 
Charlie  was  always  ready  enough  to  get  along  without 
the  office,  even  if  the  converse  of  that  proposition  had 
not  been  unusual  enough  upon  the  lips  of  Mr.  Tamms 
to  excite  his  curiosity.  So  the  long-tailed  fast  horses 
were  brought  out  in  the  trotting-buggy,  and,  well 
provided  with  cigars  and  morning  papers,  the  two 
set  forth  upon  their  journey.  It  was  a  piping  hot 
day;  the  glaring  surface  of  the  sea  lay  still  beside 
them,  and  the  straight,  unshaded,  red-clay  road 
seemed  to  be  rapidly  baking  into  brick.  Mrs.  Hab- 
erman  came  to  see  them  off,  robed  still  in  a  sort  of 
gorgeous  bedchamber  arrangement  of  pale  silk  and 
laces,  the  inevitable  large  diamonds  still  in  her  ears. 
For  some  miles  their  way  was  the  same  they  had 
taken  the  day  before,  along  the  rows  of  shadeless  vil- 
las, each  "cottage"  more  ornate  and  ramifying  than 
the  last ;  then  they  came  to  a  long  rise  of  the  swelter- 
ing fields,  past  a  thin  grove  of  pines,  a  few  cheaper 
18 


274  First  Harvests. 

boarding-houses,  and  a  swamp  with  an  artificial  pond. 
Beyond  this  the  hotels  began  again ;  and  they 
crossed  a  long  lagoon  that  looked  like  some  breeding- 
place  for  fevers  and  lay  between  two  great  wooden 
cities  ;  these  were  Asbury  Park  and  Ocean  Grove ; 
and  in  front  of  them  was  still  the  sea. 

Many  of  the  cottages  were  here  the  merest  little 
wooden  boxes,  some  of  them  put  together  still  more 
informally,  of  canvas  and  of  poles,  so  that  one  looked 
through  the  whole  domestic  range,  from  the  front 
part,  which  was  a  parlor,  through  the  open  family 
bed-room  to  the  kitchen  behind.  These  were  the 
abodes  of  those  who  (not  like  the  dwellers  at  Long 
Branch)  came  here  in  search  of  religious  experiences ; 
but  Charlie  saw,  save  a  Bible  text  or  two  in  chromo, 
no  visible  evidence  of  the  higher  life.  Paterfamilias 
was  usually  lolling,  unbuttoned  as  to  waistcoat,  in  the 
front  part  of  the  establishment ;  materfamilias,  in  an 
indescribable  white  gown  that  seemed  but  a  shapeless 
covering  for  divers  toilet  sins,  was  busied  with  house- 
wifely duties  ;  and  the  filia  pulchrior  was  commonly 
set  forth  in  a  hammock  upon  the  little  piazza,  lost  in 
some  novel  of  "  The  Duchess"  or  of  "  Bertha  Clay," 
but  not  too  lost  in  those  entrancing  pages  to  cast 
some  very  collected  glances  at  Charlie  and  his  patron's 
handsome  equipage. 

There  were  fewer  "  saloons  "  than  at  Long  Branch ; 
but  even  more  confectioners'  shops  and  summer  circu- 
lating libraries;  and  plenty  of  hotels.  Before  the 
largest  of  these,  Mr.  Tamms  drew  up  his  steaming 
horses,  and  asked  of  the  sable  yet  proud  young  porter 


The  Slaves  of  the  Lamp.  275 

if  Mr.  Remington  were  in.  "  Deacon  Remington  is 
down  at  the  beach,  sah,"  was  the  reply ;  and  Mr. 
Tamms  gave  orders  for  his  horses  to  be  rubbed  and 
cared  for,  while  they  sought  the  Deacon  (who  seemed 
a  person  of  much  prominence  at  Ocean  Grove)  on 
foot. 

Plank-walks  led  in  all  directions  through  the  streets, 
which  otherwise  would  have  been  heavy  walking,  in 
the  heaped-up  sand  ;  for  there  was  no  turf  nor  other 
vegetation,  except  where  an  artificial  platebande  of 
red  leaves  and  greenhouse  plants  was  fostered  at  the 
street  corners.  They  took  the  walk  which  led  sea- 
ward, passing  one  or  two  huge  wooden  tabernacles 
where  sermons,  meetings,  or  other  Methodist  functions 
were  performed  every  day,  as  frequent  wooden  plac- 
ards informed  them.  But  they  were  empty  now ; 
and  Charlie  could  see  the  theatre  of  rows  of  rising 
seats,  much  like  the  band-pavilion  at  a  beach  less  sa- 
cred than  was  this.  They  crossed  the  end  of  the  fresh- 
water lagoon,  passed  a  flotilla  of  pleasure  boats,  and 
ascended  to  the  sandy  shore ;  here,  from  the  crest 
of  the  beach,  the  walk  led  upward  still,  supported  on 
piles,  to  the  great  ocean  pier,  a  sort  of  sublimated  pi- 
azza, double  or  triple  decked,  roofed,  and  extending 
far  along  the  beach  before  them,  with  a  pier  project- 
ing far  out  over  the  sea.  Here  was  the  population 
of  the  place  assembled,  knitting,  reading,  or  doing 
nothing  to  the  music  of  a  brass  band  which,  sta- 
tioned at  the  outer  end  of  the  pavilion,  was  perform- 
ing revival  hymns.  It  seemed  to  Charlie  that  there 
must  be  some  thousands  of  people  on  this  pier  alone ; 


276  First  Harvests. 

and  he  saw  that  there  was  another  deck  below,  and 
still  below  that  the  beach  was  strewn,  like  drift-wood, 
with  humanity.  The  task  of  finding  Deacon  Rem- 
ington seemed  hopeless,  and  Charlie  made  bold  to 
ask  why  they  should  look  further. 

"  The  Deacon  is  the  leader  of  our  church,"  said 
Tamms,  "and  a  very  shrewd  man.  He  is  one  of  the 
largest  stockholders  in  Starbuck  Oil." 

Charlie  said  nothing  more ;  and  in  a  moment  a 
gaunt  man  rose  up  from  a  little  table  they  were  pass- 
ing by  and  addressed  Tamms  eagerly.  His  upper 
lip  was  shaven,  but  otherwise  his  beard  was  unkempt; 
his  sallow  face  had  a  worn  and  weary  look  which  even 
the  perfunctory  smile  that  continually  gleamed  across 
it,  like  sheet-lightning,  did  not  permanently  relieve. 
"  How's  the  madam  ?  "  said  Tamms. 

"  My  wife  is  here,"  said  the  Deacon  ;  and  he  jerked 
his  head  in  the  direction  of  a  fat  and  comely  person- 
age, clothed  in  continual  gray,  who  was  placidly 
knitting  at  the  table  beside  them.  It  seemed  a  pity 
to  rout  her  up  to  bow ;  but  it  had  to  be  done,  for 
Charlie  was  introduced,  and  she  rose  portentously : 

"  Delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Town- 
ley,"  said  she,  when  Tamms  had  mentioned  him. 
"  Father,  where  are  the  girls  ?  " 

"  You'll  find  my  da'ters  down  on  the  beach,  I  guess," 
said  the  Deacon,  thus  prompted. 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  a  little  about  that  Starbuck 
stock,  you  know,"  began  Tamms ;  but  the  Deacon 
sprang  up  hastily  again,  as  if  this  were  no  place  for 
tidings  of  moment.  "  Let's  walk  along  the  beach 


The  Slaves  of  the  Lamp.  277 

and  find  my  da'ters,"  said  he,  "  and  then  you  can  both 
come  up  to  the  house  to  dinner,"  and  he  led  the  way 
back  to  the  pier-head,  and  then  down  the  stairs  to 
the  lower  story,  where  the  bathing-houses  were. 
Here  the  floor  was  less  occupied;  possibly  because 
the  continual  passing  and  repassing  of  persons  in 
bathing-dresses  and  bare  feet  made  it  uncomfortably 
damp  and  sandy.  Charlie  looked  over  the  rail,  and 
saw  the  beach  beneath,  where  it  was  shaded  by  the 
pavilion,  crowded  with  men  and  women  in  every 
conceivable  variety  of  attitude.  Many  couples  had 
scooped  out  hollows  for  themselves,  where  they  wal- 
lowed with  the  sands  heaped  about  them ;  others  lay 
back  to  back,  a  huge  umbrella  stuck  in  the  sand  be 
hind  them,  the  girl  usually  reading  aloud,  the  young 
man  smoking. .  Many  still  wore  their  bathing-dresses, 
though  the  folds  of  cloth  were  now  quite  dry  and  it 
was  evident  that  they  had  worn  them  through  the 
morning.  One  pretty  girl  was  lying  with  her  bare 
feet  and  ankles  drying  in  the  sun  and  her  long  hair 
spread  out  upon  the  sand ;  a  young  man  sat  beside 
her,  in  a  striped  sleeveless  jersey  and  tights,  smoking  a 
cigarette.  Charlie  could  not  but  think  of  cows  upon 
a  summer's  day,  standing  knee-deep  in  the  pool,  as  he 
saw  these  varied  groups  in  age  and  dress  and  sex  all 
grovelling  in  the  delicious  coolness  of  the  wet  sea- 
sand. 

"  We  have  got  to  default  upon  the  Terminal  bonds, 
you  know,"  were  the  first  words  Charlie  heard 
spoken. 

"  No  !  "  said  Mr.  Remington,  open-mouthed.     And 


2/8  First  Harvests. 

he  stood  staring  at  Tamms,  his  long  arms  hanging 
limply  to  his  broadcloth  coat-tails. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tamms ;  "  I  came  down  to  tell  you. 
The  thing  isn't  known  yet,  you  know." 

Charlie  fancied  that  a  shade  of  color  returned  to 
the  Deacon's  cheek  at  this  announcement.  "  Dear 
me !  "  said  he.  "  But  I  thought " 

"  Come  back  to  the  hotel,  Remington  ;  we  can't 
talk  here,"  said  Tamms,  who  had  some  difficulty  in 
picking  his  way  among  the  outstretched  arms  and 
limbs  and  heads  of  hair,  many  of  whose  owners  had 
closed  their  eyes,  and  the  way  being  further  compli- 
cated by  the  gambols  of  playing  children,  and  the 
wetness  of  others,  in  wading  to  their  waists. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  Deacon,  half  turning  about. 
"  And  of  course  you'll  have  dinner  with  us.  Only  I 
wanted  this  young  man  to  meet  my  girls.  Why, 
here  comes  Sadie  now."  And  indeed  a  brown-haired 
damsel  of  some  twenty  summers,  just  emerged  from 
the  sea,  was  running  swiftly  toward  him.  "  Sadie, 
this  is  Mr.  Tamms,  and  Mr. — Mr.  Townley,"  and 
the  trio  bowed  at  a  respectable  distance,  for  Miss 
Remington  was  still  extremely  wet.  "  Sadie'll  show 
you  the  shortest  way  back,"  said  Mr.  Remington, 
"  and  I'll  go  back  and  get  the  mother."  Sadie  gave 
a  toss  to  her  mane  of  hair,  which  scorned  any  oiled 
cap,  as  if  to  indicate  her  readiness  ;  and  led  the  way 
up  the  soft  banks  of  sand  to  the  street  and  its  plank- 
walks. 

"  It  must  be  very  pleasant  to  be  able  to  bathe  so 
easily,"  said  Charlie,  trying  hard  to  walk  on  the  plank- 


The  Slaves  of  the  Lamp.  279 

walk  beside  her  and  yet  keep  out  of  his  fair  guide's 
drip. 

"  Yes,  it's  ever  so  much  nicer  than  dressing  in  the 
bathing-houses,"  said  Miss  Remington.  "  Did  you 
drive  over  from  the  Branch  ?  I'm  told  it's  awfully 
gay  there,  this  season  ; "  and  Charlie  admitted  that  it 
was.  They  had  now  reached  the  main  street  of  the 
town,  and  Charlie  could  not  but  admire  the  genuine- 
ness of  Miss  Remington's  constitution,  as  the  hot  sun 
streamed  upon  her  wet  face  and  her  salted  locks  hung 
heavily  behind  her.  The  hotel  was  now  before  them, 
and  after  indicating  the  gentlemen's  parlor  to  her 
guests,  she  herself  disappeared  by  a  side  entrance. 
The  great  parlor  contained  nothing  of  human  interest 
but  a  leather-bound  Bible  on  a  marble  centre-table ; 
and  Tamms  and  Charlie  Townley  soon  gravitated  to 
the  piazza,  where,  feet  upon  rail,  and  Tamms  (who 
smoked  at  all  times  and  junctures)  with  a  cigar  in  his 
mouth,  they  awaited  the  coming  of  their  host.  Soon 
he  appeared,  with  another  young  lady,  more  slender 
and,  if  possible,  wetter  than  Miss  Sadie,  walking  ner- 
vously, Mrs.  Remington  steaming  hopelessly  in  their 
wake.  "  My  wife  can't  stay,"  said  the  Deacon,  after 
the  first  moments  of  compliment  had  passed ;  "  she's 
got  to  get  ready  for  dinner.  And  now  tell  me  all  about 
it,  Tamms,"  said  he,  as  he  drew  a  chair  up  beside 
them.  It  was  curious  to  watch  the  contrast  between 
Remington's  evident  nervousness  and  Tamms's  en- 
tire self-possession  ;  and  Charlie  watched  it. 

"  Have  a  cigar  ?  "  said  Tamms,  politely  drawing  an- 
other black  one  from  his  pocket. 


280  First  Harvests. 

"  You  know  I  never  smoke,  Tamms.  But  what's 
this  about  the  Starbuck  Oil  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  know  about  all  there  is  about  it,"  said 
Tamms,  lazily.  "  It  can't  pay  interest  on  the  Terminal 
bonds,  that's  all.  They  never  ought  to  have  paid  any 
dividend,  in  my  opinion."  This  remark  cleverly  cut 
from  under  his  feet  the  rejoinder  Remington  had  in 
mind ;  and  he  looked  at  Tamms  helplessly. 

"  This  is  a  pretty  state  of  things,"  said  he,  at  last. 
"  I  thought  the  Company  had  consolidated  with  Al- 
legheny Central." 

"  The  Allegheny  Central  voted  to  consolidate  with 
Starbuck  Oil,  but  I  don't  know  that  the  Starbuck  Oil 
ever  consolidated  with  Allegheny.  The  Terminal 
bonds  were  issued  by  the  Starbuck  Oil  and  properly 
authorized  by  the  directors  ;  but  for  the  other  ques- 
tion, you  remember,  we  never  got  control."  This  was 
a  home-thrust ;  for,  as  Charlie  now  remembered,  the 
Deacon  held  the  balance  of  power  in  the  stock  ;  and 
he  had  always  refused  to  commit  himself  upon  this 
point.  "  It  looks  bad  for  Starbuck  Oil — it  does,  in- 
deed," added  Mr.  Tamms,  thoughtfully,  stroking  his 
smooth  chin  and  eying  Remington  closely.  "And  I 
tell  you  what,  Remington  :  I  felt  that  I  had  more  or 
less  got  you  into  this  thing,  and  I  came  down  to  tell 
you  about  it  while  there  was  yet  time.  There  isn't 
money  enough  in  the  treasury  to  pay  the  Septem- 
ber coupon ;  that's  certain.  But  nobody  knows  it 
yet." 

"  Well,"  said  Remington,  with  an  evident  effort, 
"  one  other  thing  is  certain,  and  that  is  that  it's  nearly 


The  Slaves  of  the  Lamp.  281 

dinner-time.  Don't  you  gentlemen  want  to  brush  up 
a  bit?" 

Tamms  answered  that  it  was  unnecessary,  and  Rem- 
ington left  upon  that  pretext.  But  Charlie  noticed 
that  he  took  the  door  that  led  to  the  hotel  telegraph 
office.  "  Remington  thought  that  he  was  doing  a  very 
shrewd  thing  in  keeping  that  stock,"  said  Tamms, 
dryly;  and  he  went  on  smoking,  but  kept  his  eyes 
intently  fixed  upon  an  imaginary  point  in  air,  about 
eighteen  inches  in  front  of  his  own  nose. 

While  Charlie  was  watching  him,  the  young  ladies, 
much  transmogrified,  came  down  for  dinner.  But  the 
dinner  was  a  long  and  weary  meal,  made  up  of  many 
courses ;  no  wine  was  served,  but  the  hotel  made  up 
for  this  by  giving  them,  at  intervals,  three  glasses  of 
ice-cream. 

"  You  must  find  it  very  pleasant  here,  Mrs.  Rem- 
ington," was  Tamms's  contribution  to  the  conversa- 
tion ;  and  "  We're  not  much  acquainted  yet — I  think 
it's  rather  too  gay,"  was  her  reply.  The  two  Miss 
Remingtons  showed  an  evident  inclination  to  converse 
with  Charlie,  but  seemed  as  if  restrained  by  the  pres- 
ence of  their  elders  ;  and  Charlie  was  not  sorry  when 
the  nuts  and  raisins  appeared,  and  they  took  their 
leave.  The  Deacon  had  seemed  greatly  preoccupied ; 
but  he  walked  with  them  to  their  buggy  and  fast 
horses,  and  Sadie  Remington  with  Charlie. 

"  Of  course,  you  know,  Tamms,"  said  the  Deacon, 
by  way  of  parting,  "  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  the 
point." 

"  Don't  mention  it,  Deacon,  don't  mention  it,"  said 


282  First  Harvests. 

Tamms,  heartily,  as  he  climbed  in  and  gathered  up 
the  reins. 

"  I  hope,  Mr.  Tovvnley,  now  you've  found  the  way, 
you'll  be  neighborly  and  come  and  see  us  often,"  said 
Sadie  Remington.  She  was  really  a  very  pretty  girl, 
thought  Charlie  ;  he  had  done  her  some  injustice  in 
her  mermaid  garb;  and  he  was  able  to  regret  the 
impossibility  of  returning  to  Ocean  Grove  with  some 
sincerity. 

Tamms  said  very  little  going  home ;  and  Charlie's 
mind  was  also  active.  "  The  Governor  "  had  certainly 
made  of  him  his  most  intimate  and  confidential  clerk; 
but  such  was  his  cleverness  that  Charlie  felt  he  knew 
rather  less  of  Mr.  Tamms's  projects  than  he  did  before. 
Upon  one  thing,  after  some  reflection,  Charlie  was  de- 
cided ;  and  that  was  to  very  carefully  tear  up  and 
throw  away  the  telegram  he  had  written  the  night  be- 
fore for  Mrs.  Gower.  For  Tamms  had  given  too  much 
advice  to  the  Deacon,  by  half. 

The  next  day  Charlie  got  up  betimes,  and  was 
driven  to  the  pier  by  Mr.  Tamms.  "  I  need  not  tell 
you,"  said  that  gentleman,  "  not  to  say  anything  about 
what  I  told  you,  or  of  our  seeing  the  Deacon  yester- 
day." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Charlie. 

"  The  Deacon  is  a  very  overbearing  man  in  business 
affairs,"  added  Tamms,  absently.  "  And  by  the  way, 
Townley,  any  chance  bits  of  Allegheny  Central  stock 
you  can  pick  up — at  the  board,  you  may  take  for  us." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Charlie.     "  How  much  ?  " 

"  I  don't  particularly  care — ten  thousand  or  so,  per- 


The  Slaves  of  the  Lamp.  283 

haps — you'll  hardly  get  more  than  that.  But  do  it 
quietly." 

"  The  deuce  ! "  thought  Charlie  to  himself  ;  but  he 
held  his  peace  ;  and  by  ten  o'clock  he  was  back  at  the 
office  and  hard  at  work.  Mr.  Tamms  did  not  return; 
and  Charlie  had  orders  to  tell  everyone  that  he  was 
temporarily  out  of  Wall  Street,  taking  his  well-earned 
vacation  at  the  seaside. 

On  that  day  there  began  to  be  a  sudden  activity  in 
Starbuck  Oil.  At  first  the  price  went  up  a  point  or 
two;  and  then  some  thousand  shares  were  thrown 
upon  the  market,  and  it  fell  more  than  twenty  points. 
Charlie  fancied  that  the  selling  came  from  the  good 
Deacon  ;  but  who  the  buyers  were,  his  sharpest  inves- 
tigations failed  to  show.  On  the  day  after,  there  were 
rumors  of  a  coming  deficit,  and  the  stock  went  down 
with  a  rush,  carrying  with  it  the  Terminal  bonds. 
The  same  afternoon  there  was  an  item  on  the  "  tape" 
to  the  effect  that  the  September  coupon  would  prob- 
ably have  to  be  funded.  The  next  day  was  a  Sunday ; 
but  on  Monday  poor  Charlie  was  flooded  with  letters, 
angry  and  beseeching,  and  with  irate  or  troubled  cus- 
tomers, who  were  holders  of  the  bonds  in  question. 
He  had  but  one  course  open  to  him  :  to  those  who 
paid  for  the  bonds,  he  regretted  that  unforeseen  ex- 
penses had  made  the  Terminal  enterprise  so  unprofit- 
able ;  and  to  those  who  had  not  paid  for  their  bonds 
as  yet  he  added  a  polite  request  for  further  "mar- 
gin." 

Mr.  Tamms  in  person  dropped  in  late  that  after- 
noon ;  and  Charlie  told  him  the  condition  of  affairs, 


284  First  Harvests. 

though  he  could  have  sworn  that  gentleman  was  pay- 
ing no  attention  to  any  word  he  spoke. 

"  Keep  at  it,"  he  said,  when  Charlie  had  got  through. 
"  You  can  tell  them  that  we,  too,  have  a  large  block  of 
bonds,  besides  owning  nearly  all  the  stock,  and  are 
heavy  losers  ourselves.  No  one  could  foresee  it,  of 
course.  Mr.  Townley  still  at  Lenox,  I  suppose?" 

Charlie  said  that  he  was,  and  Tamms  departed, 
saying  that  he  would  be  in  again  to-morrow.  And 
Charlie  went  up  to  the  Columbian  Club,  and  read  the 
following  item  in  The  Evening  Post: 

"  The  late  depression  in  Starbuck  Oil  securities  is 
believed  to  have  been  caused  by  the  fact  that  the  prop- 
erty has  failed  to  earn  its  fixed  charges  in  the  past 
six  months.  The  selling  has  come  largely  from  Dea- 
con Remington,  through  Rawson,  Lawson  &  Co. ;  and 
it  is  regarded  as  beyond  question  that  the  Company 
will  default  September  ist'upon  its  mortgage  bonds. 
The  banking  house  of  Messrs.  Townley  &  Tamms  are 
said  to  have  lost  largely  by  the  failure,  as  they  hold 
the  bulk  of  the  Company's  stock." 

"  By  Jove,"  said  Charlie  to  himself,  "  I  ought  to 
have  telegraphed  Flossie  Gower,  after  all." 

But  then  he  re-read  the  article  and  began  to  recon- 
sider it.  Charlie  was  a  young  man  addicted  to  much 
reconsideration.  It  was  a  very  strange  thing  that  a 
responsible  newspaper  should  go  out  of  its  way  to 
print  an  item  like  that — an  item  which  might  seri- 
ously injure  the  credit  of  a  prominent  banking  house. 
Why  (for  Charlie  had  studied  law  in  his  youth),  it 
was  almost  libellous.  Tamms  had  read  the  paper  be- 


The  Slaves  of  the  Lamp.  285 

fore  leaving  the  office,  and  had  not  seemed  particu- 
larly disturbed.  "  Does  he  want  it  to  be  supposed  we 
lost  money  ? — and  certainly,"  said  Charlie  to  himself, 
"  the  Governor  is  a  clever  fellow." 

The  next  day  was  the  first  of  August,  and  Charlie 
had  arranged  to  begin  his  summer  vacation  by  going 
to  Newport  that  afternoon.  He  was  early  at  the  of- 
fice, but  found  Tamms  there  already,  dictating  to  a 
couple  of  stenographers.  He  was  tearing  up  little 
pieces  of  paper,  crumpling  them  up  into  balls,  and 
throwing  them  into  one  corner  of  the  room.  Now, 
this  was  a  way  he  had  when  things  were  going  to  his 
liking;  but  Charlie  did  not  venture  to  speak  to  him 
about  the  item  in  The  Evening  Post.  Moreover,  a 
copy  of  that  journal  lay  open  on  his  desk. 

"  Shall  I  buy  any  more  Allegheny,  sir  ? "  said 
Charlie. 

"  How  much  more  have  we  got  ?  " 

"  About  eight  thousand  shares,  so  far — from  91  to 
five-eighths." 

"  Buy  all  you  can  up  to  92  or  so,"  said  Tamms, 
cheerfully.  Suddenly,  a  still  full-bodied,  though 
rather  senile  voice  was  heard  in  the  main  office,  ask- 
ing for  Mr.  Tamms.  Charlie  started,  and  even 
Tamms  sprang  to  his  feet.  And  Charlie  fancied 
that  that  gentleman's  face  turned,  if  possible,  a  shade 
paler  than  its  wont. 

"  What's  this,  Tamms  ?  "  cried  the  old  gentleman, 
already  angry,  as  the  door  flew  open,  without  heeding 
Charlie's  presence  :  "  What's  this  about  the  Starbuck 
Terminal  bonds  ?  "  And  Charlie  could  see,  through 


286  First  Harvests. 

the  open  door,  the  clerks  in  the  outer  office  huddling 
their  shoulders  over  their  ledgers,  in  evident  con- 
sciousness of  a  coming  breeze.  Mr.  Townley's  face 
was  crimson  with  excitement,  as  he  panted  in  his  stiff 
collar,  his  white  hair  making  his  face  seem  the  redder, 
and  his  bald  head  beady  with  perspiration.  Tamms 
had  always  a  sort  of  patient,  semi-patronizing  tone  in 
talking  over  business  with  his  senior  partner  ;  but  this 
time  he  tried,  and  tried  in  vain,  to  resume  his  usual 
manner. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  he  began  slowly,  "that  hither- 
to— the  Terminal  property — has  not  proved — a  profit- 
able enterprise." 

"  Stuff — and — nonsense  !  "  interposed  Mr.  Town- 
ley,  his  sputtering  enunciation  in  strange  contrast 
with  Tamms's  clear-cut  tones.  "  You  yourself  told 
me  it  promised  most  excellently." 

"  So  I  did,  sir — last  winter.  I  fear  that  I  was  mis- 
taken," said  Tamms,  humbly. 

"  Mistaken,  eh  !  Well,  sir,  and  what  do  you  pro- 
pose to  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  see  nothing  for  it — but  to  fund  the  next  cou- 
pon— and  attempt  a  reorganization " 

"  I  do  not  mean  as  a  director,  sir ;  with  that  busi- 
ness you  are  familiar.  But  as  a  banker — as  a  New 
York  merchant — as  a  member — damn  it,  sir,  as  a 
member  of  the  house  of  Charles  Townley  &  Son  ?  " 
In  his  anger,  the  old  gentleman  had  used  the  former 
name  of  the  firm  ;  and  there  was  an  ugly  glitter  in 
Tamms's  eye,  which  he  carefully  kept  from  meeting 
old  Mr.  Townley's. 


The  Slaves  of  the  Lamp.  287 

"  As  a  member  of  the  firm  of  Townley  &  Tamms," 
said  he,  "  I  see  nothing  to  do  but  to  look  over  our 
customers'  margins  and  bear  our  own  losses."  Charlie 
made  a  motion  to  go. 

"  Stay  there,  Mr.  Townley,"  ordered  the  old  gen- 
tleman, "  and  learn  once  for  all  the  traditions  of  the 
house  of  Charles  Townley  &  Son.  So,  Mr.  Tamms, 
a  year  after  bringing  out  these  bonds,  with  the  ink 
hardly  dry  upon  them,  before  the  second  coupon  is 
cut,  you  propose  that  we  who  fathered  them  should 
stand  by  and  see  our  clients  and  the  public,  who  re- 
lied upon  our  recommendation  and  our  name,  de- 
ceived in  both  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  what  else  we  can  do,  sir.  We  are  not 
the  Starbuck  Oil  Company."  Tamms  tried  still  to 
patronize ;  but  Charlie  marvelled  that  a  man  who 
seemed  so  large  the  day  before  with  Deacon  Reming- 
ton should  seem  so  small  to-day  before  an  angry  old 
man  with  white  hair  who  had  outlived  his  business 
usefulness  and  sputtered  when  he  spoke. 

"  I  will  show  you,  then.  Mr.  Townley,  will  you 
please  take  down  this  letter."  Charlie  moved  his 
chair  to  a  table  and  wrote,  while  Mr.  Townley  dic- 
tated : 

"  Messrs.  Townley  &  Tamms — regret  that  unfore- 
seen circumstances — have  caused  an  embarrassment  in 
the  affairs  of  the  Starbuck  Oil  Company — but  have 
decided  to  guaranty  the  coupons  on  the  Terminal 
Trust  bonds — until  the  property  has  been  put  upon  a 
paying  basis. — From  those  who  prefer — Messrs.  Town- 
ley  &  Tamms  will  take  back  the  bonds  sold  by  them 


288  First  Harvests. 

— paying  the  price  originally  paid  therefor,  with  ac- 
crued interest." 

"  There,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Townley  to  Charlie,  "you  will 
have  five  hundred  copies  of  that  circular  dated  to-day 
and  printed  immediately.  And  Mr.  Tamms,  you  will 
kindly  see  that  a  copy  is  mailed  to  every  one  of  our 
correspondents  and  clients — or  our  partnership  may 
end  at  once." 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  Tamms,  calmly.  "  I  pre- 
sume you  know  what  an  amount  of  ready  money  this 
action  may  require  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  do  not,"  said  Mr.  Townley. 

"  It  may  force  us  into  liquidation,"  said  Mr.  Tamms. 

"  Fiddle-de-dee,"  said  Mr.  Townley,  as  he  rose  and 
left  the  office. 

Tamms  looked  after  him  long  and  curiously,  as  an 
artist  might  look  after  a  retreating  cow  which  had 
just  knocked  over  his  easel  and  trampled  on  his  study 
of  pastoral  life.  Charlie  looked  at  Tamms.  The 
hour  for  him  to  be  upon  the  Stock  Exchange  had 
long  since  passed ;  but  he  still  sat  there,  and  nothing 
was  said  for  some  time.  Finally  Tamms  took  a  bit 
of  paper,  and  began  to  roll  it  up  into  little  balls. 

"  It  is  very  unnecessary  for  Mr.  Townley  to  take 
up  such  a  quixotic  attitude,"  said  he.  "  That  sort 
of  thing  is  all  very  well  in  Shakespeare."  And  he 
threw  his  little  balls  of  paper,  with  great  accuracy, 
one  into  each  of  the  three  other  corners  of  the  room. 

"  What  shall  I  do,  sir,  about  the  circular  ?  " 

"  You  must  have  it  printed  at  once,  and  mailed,  as 


The  Slaves  of  the  Lamp.  289 

Mr.  Townley  directed.  But  Mr.  Lauer  will  attend  to 
that."  (Lauer  was  the  bookkeeper.)  "  This  insane 
action  of  Townley's  will  require  considerable  ready 
money.  You  must  go  to  the  board  at  once,  and  sell 
some  Allegheny  Central."  Tamms  had  endeavored 
to  assume  his  slightly  contemptuous  air  in  speaking 
of  his  partner;  but  it  seemed  to  Charlie  that  there 
was  still  a  pallor  in  his  sharp  face  that  belied  his 
jauntiness. 

"  How  much  shall  I  sell,  sir  ?" 

"  All  we've  got,"  said  Tamms,  curtly.  Charlie 
nodded,  and  jumped  up  to  leave  the  room.  When 
he  got  to  the  street-door  a  clerk  came  running  after 
him.  "  Don't  sell  yourself — get  Lawson,  Rawson  & 
Co.  to  do  it,"  said  Tamms,  as  he  turned  back. 
Charlie  nodded  again,  and  was  off.  Now,  Lawson, 
Rawson  &  Co.  were  Deacon  Remington's  brokers ; 
ergo  Tamms  did  not  want  people  to  know  he  was 
selling ;  ergo,  he  was  selling  in  good  earnest.  It 
looked  bad.  And  he  had  thought  Tamms  such  a 
clever  fellow ! 

Charlie  was  very  busy  at  the  stock-board  that  after- 
noon. He  bought  a  few  hundred  shares  himself,  but 
this  had  little  avail  in  staying  the  price  against  the 
thousands  with  which  Lawson,  Rawson  &  Co.  del- 
uged the  market.  Charlie  did  not  trouble  himself 
much  then  with  thinking ;  he  had  no  positive  capital 
in  the  firm  of  Townley  &  Tamms  ;  but  he  had  a  feel- 
ing that  it  was  a  critical  moment  for  them.  He  could 
not  help  a  slight  wonder  that  Tamms  had  yielded  to 
his  senior  so  easily ;  but  then  he  reflected  that  a  vio- 
19 


290  First  Harvests. 

lent  rupture  at  such  a  juncture  meant  to  Tamms  even 
more  certain  financial  ruin  than  the  firm  incurred  by 
making  good  the  Terminal  bonds.  Despite  Charlie's 
strategy,  and  the  few  hundreds  he  bought  with  much 
vociferation,  the  price  sagged  from  93  to  90  and  a 
fraction  ;  and  there  was  a  wild  and  struggling  crowd 
of  panting  men  about  the  iron  standard  that  bore  the 
sign  of  Allegheny  Central.  Now  and  then  Charlie 
would  elbow  his  way  into  the  outskirts  and  make  a 
feeble  bid  or  two  ;  but  a  good-natured  friend  volun- 
teered advice  that  it  was  no  use,  and  "  the  best  thing 
he  could  do  was  to  wait  until  the  Deacon  had  got 
his  lines  well  out,  and  then  catch  him  short,"  advice 
which  Charlie  received  with  a  smile.  At  all  events, 
the  Governor  could  not  say  he  had  not  done  things 
well ;  for  even  his  friend  had  not  suspected  that  it 
was  he  who  was  selling. 

Dick  Rawson  was  standing  in  the  middle,  red-faced 
and  breathless,  his  voice  already  hoarse,  like  a  stag  at 
bay  amid  a  pack  of  leaping  hounds.  Charlie  looked 
at  him  and  for  a  fraction  of  a  second  caught  his  eye. 
Then  Charlie  looked  at  the  wall  beneath  the  gallery. 
That  wall  is  used  for  members'  signals,  and  as  he 
watched  it,  a  wooden  lid  fell  back,  revealing  a  white 
placard  with  the  number  449.  Now,  this  was  Charlie's 
number,  and  it  meant  that  there  was  some  one  for 
him  in  the  lobby ;  he  went  out  at  once,  and  the  num- 
ber sprang  back  out  of  sight  with  a  click,  worked  by 
some  clockwork  mechanism.  In  the  lobby  Charlie 
found  a  messenger  with  a  sealed  note  addressed  to 
him.  It  was  a  hastily  pencilled  scrawl  from  Rawson, 


The  Slaves  of  the  Lamp.  291 

the  very  man  who  was  standing  in  the  focus  of  the 
excited  throng,  but  of  course  had  given  no  sign  of  any 
understanding  there. 

"  1  have  sold  1 1,000.     Shall  I  go  on  ? 

R." 

Charlie  thought  a  minute  ;  mucii  of  their  stock,  he 
knew,  had  been  pledged  at  about  80,  and  to  drive  the 
stock  below  this  point  would  cause  a  call  for  further 
margin.  And,  unless  Charlie  was  very  much  mis- 
taken, the  firm  of  Townley  &  Tamms  had  just  then 
no  more  securities  to  pledge.  He  wrote  on  the  back 
of  Rawson's  note : 

"  Sell  all  you  can  down  to  85. 

C.  T." 

The  boy  went  back  upon  the  floor  of  the  Exchange. 
Charlie  did  not  deem  it  wise  to  follow  him ;  but  in  a 
few  minutes  a  renewed  roar  from  the  Allegheny  Cen- 
tral crowd  told  him  that  his  order  was  being  exe- 
cuted. 

He  went  back  to  the  office,  where  he  found  Mr. 
Tamms  still  sitting  in  his  private  room,  much  as  he 
had  left  him.  A  certain  unusual  idleness,  a  subtile 
air  of  expectation  pervaded  the  clerks  in  the  office, 
which  Charlie  did  not  fail  to  note.  Tamms  looked 
up  at  him,  as  he  entered,  but  made  no  remark. 

"  We  have  sold  over  ten  thousand,"  said  Charlie. 

"  What's  the  price  now  ?  "  asked  Tamms. 

"  It  broke  90,"  said  Charlie,  laconically. 


292  First  Harvests. 

"  We  shall  know  exactly  in  a  few  minutes,"  added 
Tamms,  calmly.  "  See,  I  have  already  got  a  proof  of 
Mr.  Townley's  proclamation."  And  Tamms  tossed 
the  paper  to  Charlie,  giving  the  word  Proclamation 
an  accent  that  was  slightly  contemptuous.  "  You  will 
keep  the  correspondence  clerk  to  see  that  they  are  all 
duly  mailed  to-night." 

Charlie  went  out  to  get  his  lunch,  as  he  had  had 
no  time  to  eat  since  breakfast ;  and  when  he  hurried 
back  at  a  quarter  after  three,  Rawson  was  there  with 
his  account.  They  had  sold  16,400  shares  at  from 
93  t°  85i — an  average  of  nearly  89.  "  I  shall  not  be 
in  all  day  to-morrow,"  said  Tamms  to  Charlie.  "  You 
will  see  to  getting  in  the  stock  that  is  out  as  collat- 
eral, and  its  prompt  delivery." 

"  I  had  arranged  to  go  on  my  vacation  to-day," 
said  Charlie.  "  May  I  go  to-morrow  night  ?" 

"  Certainly — after  that  is  done."  And  Tamms  left 
the  office,  to  all  appearance  unshaken  by  the  events 
of  the  day.  Charlie  went  to  his  lodgings  and  dressed, 
and  then  dined  at  his  club  alone. 

Though  he  had  no  money  stake  in  the  firm,  its  suc- 
cess or  downfall  would  mean  much  to  him.  With  its 
failure  went  all  his  future,  all  his  business  prospects. 
And  Charlie  went  over  in  his  mind,  for  the  twentieth 
time,  the  extent  to  which  they  had  been  injured. 
First,  there  was  over  four  million  dollars  of  the  Ter- 
minal bonds  which  they  had  sold  and  Mr.  Townley 
ordered  to  be  made  good.  At  the  best,  the  loss  on 
these  could  hardly  be  under  a  million.  Then  Charlie 
knew,  though  possibly  old  Mr.  Townley  did  not, 


The  Slaves  of  the  Lamp.  293 

that  they  had  a  very  heavy  holding  in  Starbuck  Oil 
stock.  Although  Tamms  had  let  out  to  him  at 
Ocean  Grove  that  they  did  not  actually  hold  a  ma- 
jority, as  people  had  supposed,  they  certainly  held  a 
large  amount,  probably  as  much  as  Mrs.  Gower  her- 
self, if  the  Deacon  had  held  the  balance  of  power. 
But  if  the  Terminal  mortgage  was  foreclosed,  it 
would  possibly  wipe  out  all  the  stock,  and  this  was 
all  dead  loss.  And  the  Allegheny  Central  stood  them 
in  at  85  or  so,  so  they  had  not  cleared  a  sum  worth 
mentioning  on  that.  And  he  ought  to  have  tele- 
graphed Mrs.  Gower,  after  all. 

For  once  in  his  life,  Charlie  passed  a  sleepless 
night ;  a  thing  less  common  to  his  kind  than  to  John 
Haviland,  for  instance,  he  being  also  a  healthy  ani- 
mal, but  with  a  conscience.  In  the  morning  he  had 
his  trunk  packed  and  sent  to  the  station  ;  and  after 
finishing  up  for  the  day  at  the  office,  he  got  to  the 
Grand  Central  Depot  at  four  o'clock.  But  here 
hd  took  the  train,  not  for  Newport,  but  for  Lenox. 
Now,  Mamie  Livingstone  was  still  at  Great  Barring- 
ton. 

He  opened  an  evening  penny  paper,  and  the  first 
Wall  Street  item  that  attracted  his  attentive  eye  ran 
as  follows : 

"  It  is  reported  that  a  certain  prominent  banking- 
house,  largely  identified  with  Allegheny  Central,  has 
been  hard  hit  by  the  recent  developments  in  Starbuck 
Oil." 

And  in  another  part  of  the  same  paper  : 

"  It  is  now  believed  that  yesterday's  selling  in  Al- 


294  First  Harvests. 

legheny  was  not  from  Deacon  Remington,  but  long 
stock  sold  by  insiders  for  reasons  of  their  own." 

Charlie  was  not  surprised  that  their  tactics  were 
discovered.  He  knew  that  such  devices  as  they  had 
used  might  serve  the  purpose  for  the  moment,  but 
could  not  deceive  the  hundred  keen-eyed  men  that 
constitute  "  the  Street "  for  twenty-four  hours  to- 
gether. 

He  alighted  at  Lenox  in  the  cool  of  the  evening, 
and  went  to  the  hotel.  The  country  air  was  grateful 
to  him,  and  he  slept  soundly.  The  next  day  he  idled 
at  the  Lenox  Club,  waiting  for  his  horse  and  dog- 
cart, which  had  been  shipped  the  day  before.  In  the 
evening  they  arrived,  and  he  transferred  his  head- 
quarters to  the  inn  at  Stockbridge.  The  following 
afternoon,  his  cart  and  harness  well  cleaned,  his  horse 
carefully  groomed,  and  his  groom  riding  behind  in  full 
livery,  he  drove  over  to  Great  Barrington  and  called 
upon  Miss  Holyoke — and  Miss  Livingstone.  That 
is,  he  asked  for  Miss  Livingstone,  and  left  a  card  for 
Gracie.  Mamie  came  down,  all  excitement ;  it  had 
been  getting  so  dull  in  the  country,  and  here  was 
Charlie,  like  an  angel  dropped  from  heaven  all  for 
her  !  "  I  am  staying  at  Stockbridge,  you  know,"  said 
Charlie,  "  and  I  have  driven  over  to  ask  if  you  will  not 
come  for  a  little  drive  ?" 

Mamie  turned  her  pretty  eyes  away  and  blushed  a 
little ;  but  she  was  thinking  of  Gracie,  not  of  him. 
But  after  all,  Gracie  was  little  older  than  was  she ; 
it  was  not  politic  to  admit  her  right  of  chaperonage 
too  far.  So  they  went,  and  had  a  long  drive  through 


The  Slaves  of  the  Lamp.  295 

the  woods ;  and  never,  even  to  married  ladies,  had 
Charlie  Townley  made  love  so  charmingly.  And  it 
must  be  admitted,  though  his  male  friends  had  no 
inkling  of  it,  that  Charlie  could,  upon  occasion,  make 
love  very  well.  And  when  he  left,  it  was  quite  set- 
tled that  he  was  to  come  again — not  the  next  day,  of 
course,  but  the  day  after.  Poor  Mamie !  Poor  Chloe  ! 
She  did  not  know  that  it  was  the  Starbuck  Oil  Com- 
pany that  had  forced  Mr.  Strephon's  hand. 

And  on  the  following  evening,  Charlie  Townley, 
sitting  at  the  Lenox  Club,  took  up  his  Evening  Post 
with  some  trepidation.  He  fully  expected  to  see 
that  the  house  of  Townley  &  Tamms  had  suspended 
payments. 

ALLEGHENY   CENTRAL. 

At  a  meeting  of  the  Allegheny  Central  Railroad  Company  held  this 
morning,  the  following  resolution  and  vote,  introduced  by  Mr.  Phineas 
L.  Tamms,  were  unanimously  adopted  : 

Whereas,  Under  the  terms  of  the  late  proposed  consolidation  of 
this  company  with  the  Silas  Starbuck  Oil  Company,  certain  bonds  of 
the  latter  company  were  authorized  by  vote  of  both  boards  of  direc- 
tors, and  have  been  duly  issued,  to  provide  for  terminal  facilities, 
wharves,  etc.  And  although,  during  the  process  of  construction,  and 
in  consequence  of  certain  extraordinary  expenses,  the  earnings  of  the 
Silas  Starbuck  Oil  Company  have  proved  temporarily  insufficient  to 
meet  fixed  charges,  the  directors  of  the  Allegheny  Central  Company 
are  convinced  that  the  ultimate  value  and  returns  of  such  improve- 
ments will  more  than  compensate  for  the  outlay  involved  ;  therefore 
be  it 

Resolved,  That  inasmuch  as  the  faith  and  credit  of  the  Allegheny 
Central  Railroad  Company  have  been  largely  relied  upon  by  the  invest- 
ing public  in  purchasing  said  bonds,  though  not  in  terms  guarantied  by 
said  company,  your  directors  deem  it  proper  to  definitely  guaranty 
said  bonds,  principal  and  interest. 

Voted,  That  the  President  and  Treasurer  of  the  Allegheny  Central 
Railroad  Company  be  authorized  to  affix  the  guaranty  of  said  com- 
pany, both  for  principal  and  interest,  upon  such  bonds  of  the  Starbuck 
Oil  Company  as  shall  be  presented  at  their  office  for  that  purpose  be- 
fore the  first  day  of  October  next. 


296  First  Harvests. 

By  Jove !  A  great  light  burst  upon  Charlie,  and 
the  paper  fell  from  his  hands.  He  took  it  up  again, 
and  read,  lower  down  in  the  same  column  : 

At  a  meeting  of  the  Silas  Starbuck  Oil  Company  held  this  after- 
noon, a  new  board  of  directors  was  elected.  Phineas  L.  Tamms  was 
elected  President,  and  the  board  is  the  same,  with  the  exception  of 
Deacon  Remington,  who  is  replaced  in  the  new  board  by  Adolph 
Lauer.  It  is  currently  reported  that  the  control  of  this  property  has 
now  definitely  passed  into  the  hands  of  Messrs.  Townley  &  Tamms. 

"  Great  heavens !  "  gasped  Charlie.  Lauer  was 
merely  one  of  their  clerks.  It  was  Tamms  himself 
who  had  been  buying  all  the  Deacon's  Starbuck  Oil 
stock  quietly,  unknown  even  to  Charlie;  and  he  had 
sold  all  their  own  Allegheny  Central ;  and  then  met 
his  senior  partner's  order  by  causing  the  latter  corpo- 
ration to  guaranty  the  former.  He  had  served  both 
God  and  Mammon,  captured  the  keen  Deacon,  pleased 
his  partner,  and  made  money  at  the  same  time.  And 
Charlie  turned  to  the  quotations. 

Allegheny  Central  was  down  at  73,  and  the  Star- 
buck  Oil  had  gone  up  to  140;  and  the  bonds  were 
well  above  par.  And  Tamms  had  secured  the  repu- 
tation of  an  honorable  financier  into  the  bargain  ! 

Charlie  began  rapidly  to  calculate.  Tamms  must 
have  now  over  ten  thousand  Starbuck  Oil,  upon 
which  he  had  made  at  least  thirty  dollars  a  share ; 
and  he  had  finally  got  the  control  besides.  He  had 
sold  much  of  their  Allegheny  Central  at  nearly  the 
highest  prices,  averaging  90  or  so,  making  perhaps 
$200,000  here.  Add  to  this  the  $100,000  or  more 
they  had  made  originally  upon  the  Terminal  bonds, 


The  Slaves  of  the  Lamp.  297 

upon  which  the  firm's  endorsement  was  now  unneces- 
sary, and 

"  The  Governor  is  a  devilish  clever  fellow,"  con- 
cluded Charlie.  And  as  he  thought  of  that  drive 
with  Mamie,  he  feared  that  he  himself  had  been  too 
precipitate. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MAMIE   GOES    TO   THE    SHOW. 

|RACIE  had  looked  forward  with  a  yearn- 
ing she  would  not  even  to  herself  allow  to 
the  summer  and  her  coming  to  her  fath- 
er's home  once  more.  There  are  times 
when  rocks  and  woods  and  fields  and  streams  speak 
to  us  with  sympathy  no  human  being  seems  to  have ; 
why  is  it,  I  wonder  ?  When  nature  was  an  enemy 
and  men  were  savages,  they  seemed  unconscious  of 
her  and  thought  only  of  each  other ;  now  that  men 
have  all  learned  human  sympathy,  and  altruism  is 
the  cry,  some,  and  those  perhaps  the  gentlest  and  the 
noblest  of  us  all,  must  fly  to  nature  for  a  refuge  yet. 
But  perhaps  we  have  not  yet  learned  human  sym- 
pathy ;  or  perhaps  it  is  the  divine  that  we  should 
have  instead.  Perhaps  our  sympathy  is  too  often 
one  of  common  objects  or  of  common  lusts.  Perhaps 
each  one  seeks  his  glory,  rather  that  he  may  dazzle 
others  with  it  than  lend  his  light  to  them. 

But  Gracie  was  not  complex,  nor  analytic ;  it  is 
only  the  diseased  who  so  apply  the  scalpel.  If  she 
ever  was  unhappy,  she  thought  it  willed  from  Heaven  ; 
or  sought  the  cause  in  herself  and  not  in  other  things. 
And  at  all  events,  she  was  not  unhappy  now,  save  as 


Mamie   Goes  to  the  Show.  299 

some  lily  may  be  sad  for  loneliness.  Yet  who  would 
wish  no  lilies  grew  but  such  as  serve  in  balls  or 
churches?  Some  will  tell  you  that  all  lilies  are 
forced  ;  not  natural  even  there.  But  others  of  us 
may  believe  in  lilies  still. 

And  Mamie  too  had  some  of  Gracie's  happiness  ; 
some  sense  of  things  she  had  not  felt  before.  They 
walked,  and  rode,  and  read  together ;  and  if  Gracie 
dreamed,  Mamie  would  think,  more  practically.  But 
Mamie,  too,  had  learned  to  love  her  cousin ;  still, 
perhaps,  with  some  slight  shade  of  patronage.  Thus 
they  had  been  together,  until  that  day  when  Townley 
called  and  brought  with  him  to  Mamie  the  envied 
savor  of  the  world  again.  She  returned  from  her 
drive,  full  of  triumph,  to  Gracie ;  and  then  Gracie 
had  been  forced  into  the  thankless  attitude  of  a 
duenna.  Gracie  could  not  have  told  why  she  did  not 
quite  like  Charlie  Townley ;  and  Mamie  had  begun 
to  pout  once  more.  And  Mamie  had  looked  for 
Charlie  the  next  day ;  but  he  did  not  come,  nor  yet 
the  next  day;  and  Mamie  had  blamed  Gracie  with 
being  rude  to  him. 

For  Charlie,  after  reading  the  paper  that  night,  had 
almost  had  his  confidence  in  Tamms  restored.  He 
meant  to  marry  some  time,  and  to  make  his  fortune 
by  it  ;  but  he  had  a  dread  of  wedlock,  even  gilded  ; 
as  every  sensible  man  must,  he  thought. 

Then  he  had  seen  old  Mr.  Townley  one  day  at 
Lenox.  "  I  fear  I  did  Mr.  Tamms  a  great  wrong 
that  morning,  Charlie,"  he  had  said.  "  He  was  too 
proud  to  defend  himself ;  but  I  suspect  he  had  all  the 


300  First  Harvests. 

arrangements  made,  even  at  that  time,  and  felt  deeply 
the  injustice  of  my  strictures."  Charlie  had  thrust 
his  tongue  in  his  cheek  at  this,  but  had  held  his  peace. 
He  did  not  tell  that  Tamms  had  sold  12,000  Alle- 
gheny Central  first.  For  Charlie  had  made  a  flying 
visit  to  the  office  ;  and  there  he  saw  enough  to  con- 
vince him  that  Tamms  was  already  buying  back  his 
Allegheny  Central  stock  again.  And  indeed  it  was 
obvious  enough  that  he  would  have  to  do  this  in  or- 
der to  retain  the  control  of  the  great  property  against 
the  next  election.  One  paper  had  called  the  guaran- 
ty a  fraud. 

"  The  Governor  is  certainly  devilish  smart,"  said 
Charlie  to  himself ;  "  but  I  fear  he's  almost  too  smart 
to  last  out  my  time."  And  Charlie  drove  over  to 
Great  Barrington  again.  So  his  drive  with  Mamie 
was  many  times  repeated  ;  and  what  could  Gracie 
do  ?  for,  as  Mamie  told  her,  laughing,  she  would  yield 
to  her  in  anything  but  this.  For,  of  what  her  course 
in  the  world  should  be,  Mamie  considered  herself 
much  the  better  judge.  And  Gracie  could  not  bring 
herself  to  write  and  bear  tales  to  her  aunt,  who  was 
growing  old,  while  Mr.  Livingstone  was  still  less  to  be 
thought  of.  For  men  and  women,  for  youths  and 
children,  for  mobs  and  voters,  there  is  a  something 
absurd  now  about  all  the  constituted  authorities ;  and 
so  we  laugh,  and  the  dance  goes  on. 

Since  the  affair  with  Deacon  Remington,  Tamms 
had  taken  Charlie  quite  into  his  confidence  ;  and  on 
the  first  of  September  surprised  him  with  conferring 
the  firm's  signature.  But,  though  Charlie  was  now  a 


.Mamie   Goes  to  the  Show.  301 

partner,  he  had  no  capital ;  and  his  added  dignity 
gave  him  little  more  than  a  closer  knowledge  of  the 
firm's  business — and  a  liability  for  the  firm's  debts. 
But  this  last  responsibility  did  not  disturb  his  slum- 
bers ;  and  he  continued  to  be  as  attentive  as  ever  to 
Miss  Livingstone. 

One  day,  late  in  the  month,  Charlie  ran  up  to 
Great  Barrington  for  a  Sunday,  and,  to  his  surprise, 
found  Mr.  Derwent  there.  Now,  what  the  deuce 
might  this  fellow  be  doing  ?  thought  he,  and  looked 
at  him  askance.  Derwent  filled  up  the  entire  parlor, 
as  Charlie  afterward  put  it  to  Mamie,  and  it  was  im- 
possible for  him  to  get  a  word  with  her.  "  I  thought 
you  had  gone  to  British  Columbia,"  said  Charlie  to 
him,  at  last,  suggestively. 

"  Did  you  ?  "  replied  the  other,  simply. 

"  My  afternoon  was  quite  spoilt,  and  I  had  come 
up  from  New  York  on  purpose,''  complained  Charlie, 
the  next  day,  to  Mamie  ;  and  by  this  time  the  speech 
was  really  true.  Courting  is  a  pleasant  sport  while  it 
lasts,  and  Miss  Livingstone  was  a  very  pretty,  bright 
young  girl ;  and  had  it  been  merely  flirting — but,  as 
time  went  on,  Townley  began  to  take  some  interest  in 
the  chase  for  the  game's  sake,  and  not  for  sport  only. 
And  Charlie  had  come  up  for  a  special  purpose,  which 
was  to  get  Miss  Mamie  to  go  with  him  to  the  first 
meet  of  the  Bronx  hounds,  to  be  held  at  their  kennels 
in  the  Sands  country  the  following  Tuesday. 

The  day  before,  they  had  a  great  scene  in  the  office. 
Mr.  Tamms  had  for  several  weeks  been  off  in  regions 
unknown  to  Wall  Street,  upon  his  own  vacation, 


302  First  Harvests. 

and  had  just  returned.  Hardly  had  he  torn  open 
and  roughly  disposed  of  his  morning  mail,  when  in 
came  Deacon  Remington.  "  I  am  informed  that  Mr. 
Tamms  is  returned,"  he  announced.  "  I  desire  to  see 
him." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Deacon  Remington  ?"  said  Char- 
lie, stepping  forward.  "  I  haven't  seen  you  since 
Ocean  Grove,  I  think,"  he  added,  politely. 

"  I  desire  to  have  an  interview  with  Mr.  Tamms." 
The  Deacon  continued  to  speak  with  precision,  ig- 
noring Charlie's  courtesies  as  uncalled  for  and  unbusi- 
nesslike. 

"  Mr.  Tamms  is  in  his  private  office,  I  think," 
said  Charlie,  blandly.  And  he  inducted  the  earnest 
Deacon  into  that  apartment,  and  closed  the  door 
upon  him,  with  much  the  feeling  that  one  has  who 
shuts  up  a  monkey  in  a  parrot-cage.  This  done, 
Charlie  resumed  his  desk  and  his  occupation,  which 
latter  was  nothing  more  arduous  than  the  writing  of 
a  note  to  Mamie  Livingstone.  "  Everybody  will  be 
there,"  he  wrote  ;  "  and  I  hope " 

In  a  few  minutes  the  door  was  opened,  and  Mr. 
Tamms  came  out.  Mr.  Townley,"  he  said  in  flute- 
like  tones  ;  "  will  you  kindly  step  in  for  a  moment  ?" 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  Charlie.  He  went  in,  and 
the  door  was  closed  behind  them.  The  pious  Deacon 
was  sitting  upon  the  lounge  on  one  corner,  with 
folded  wings,  like  a  large  blue-bottle. 

"  I  wish  you  to  tell  Deacon  Remington  under  what 
circumstances  the  house  of  Townley  &  Tamms  were 
compelled  to  meet  the  deficit  in  the  Starbuck  Ter- 


Mamie   Goes  to  the  Show.  303 

minal  bonds  and  avert  foreclosure.  Do  you  remem- 
ber anything  about  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  Charlie.  He  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment, but  was  much  too  clever  to  seem  to  look  to 
Tamms  for  the  cue.  "  It  was  by  order  of  Mr.  Town- 
ley  himself." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  day  ?  " 

"  It  was  the  day  after  my  return  from  Long  Branch 
— three  days  after  our  drive  to  Ocean  Grove." 

"  You  see,  Deacon  ? "  said  Tamms,  in  the  meek 
tones  of  a  Christian  unjustly  wronged. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see,"  said  the  Deacon. 

"  And  am  I  right  in  stating  that  Mr.  Townley's 
attitude  was  most  peremptory  ?"  Charlie  nodded. 
"  That  he  went  so  far  as  to  threaten  a  dissolution  of 
partnership  unless  his  orders  were  instantly  com- 
plied with  ?" 

"  He  made  me  mail  the  circulars  and  send  one  out 
over  the  tape  the  same  afternoon,"  said  Charlie. 

Again  Tamms  looked  to  Remington.  There  was 
a  silence  of  some  minutes,  rather  embarrassing  to  two 
of  the  company,  at  least. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Remington,  at  last,  "  I  may  have 
done  you  wrong,  Tamms.  But  now  you've  got  my 
stock."  And  without  the  formalities  of  leave-taking, 
he  rose  and  shuffled  out  of  the  shop. 

Tamms  watched  him  almost  regretfully,  and  when 
he  disappeared  down  the  street,  turned  to  Charlie. 

"There,  I  fear,  goes  a  man  who  will  be  a  chronic 
bear  upon  the  Allegheny  Central,"  said  he.  Tamms 
had  fallen  into  a  way  of  making  these  semi-conn"- 


304  First  Harvests. 

dences  to  Charlie ;  and  the  latter  was  struck  with  the 
justice  of  this  remark. 

This  scene  was  fresh  in  Charlie's  mind  to  day 
when  driving  with  Mamie  through  the  calm,  deep 
woods  that  clothe  the  Berkshire  hills.  Charlie  was 
afraid  of  the  Deacon  ;  and  sought  Mamie's  money's 
aid  against  him.  Ah  !  Shakespeare's  heroines  had  a 
simple  time  enough ;  what  would  they  do  in  these 
days,  when  Shylock  masks  as  Romeo,  and  Othello, 
turned  soldier  of  fortune,  seeks  distinction  at  his  mis- 
tress's mouth  ?  I  fear  me  even  Portia  would  have 
found  her  match. 

But  Mamie  would  go  to  the  meet — yes,  she  would. 
Where  love,  inclination,  and  social  ambition  coincide, 
what  prudent  counsels  of  a  country  girl  like  Gracie 
could  resist  them  ?  She  wrote  that  evening,  thank- 
ing Mrs.  Grower  for  her  invitation,  and  only  on  the 
next  day  told  Gracie  what  she  had  done.  Gracie 
knew  Mrs.  Gower  only  slightly ;  though,  had  she 
known  her  a  thousand  years,  she  would  not  have 
known  her  well.  The  kennels  were  at  the  "  Bogar- 
dus  Farm,"  and  after  the  meet  there  was  to  be  a  hunt 
dinner  and  a  hunt  ball.  Mrs.  Gower  had  many  man- 
sions, many  places  in  which  to  lay  her  pretty  head— 
and  the  heads  of  her  guests — and  now,  it  seems,  she 
had  a  cottage  near  by,  in  which  Mamie  was  to  go. 
And  the  other  guests,  as  Flossie  wrote,  were  to  be 
only  Lord  Birmingham,  Kitty  Farnum — and  Mr. 
Wemyss. 

For  this  meeting  was  indeed  "  select ;  "  only  of  the 
very  gayest,  smartest  few,  those  of  whose  prominence 


Mamie  Goes  to  the  Show.  305 

there  could  be  no  question  in  the  race  after  pleasure, 
only  those  whose  purses  and  whose  persons  kept  the 
pace  that  fashion,  for  the  time,  demanded.  And  both 
the  horses  and  the  dogs  were  also  of  the  choicest 
breed  and  blood,  and  were  worth,  each  and  all,  his 
hundreds  or  his  thousands  ;  and  the  human  beings, 
too,  if  of  their  blood  we  dare  not  say  so  much,  were 
of  breeding  &  la  mode,  and  worth,  I  dare  say,  any 
sums  you  like.  John  Haviland  was  not  here,  nor 
Lionel  Derwent,  nor  even  poor  Arthur  yet — but  only 
those  who  made,  or  seemed  to  make,  the  very  light- 
est little  game  of  life. 

When  newspapers  describe  all  this,  they  speak  a 
little  of  the  ladies'  dresses — but  chiefly  of  the  horses. 
For  this  fashionable  life  of  ours,  the  life  of  so  many  of 
those  with  whom  our  lines  have,  thus  far,  been  cast, 
seems  founded,  in  its  last  analysis,  upon  the  horse  alone. 
That  noble  animal,  in  all  his  varied  uses,  under  the 
saddle,  in  a  four-in-hand,  at  Mrs.  Gower's  carriage 
traces — take  him  all  in  all,  he  stands  for  everything ; 
he  is  almost  the  protagonist  of  Flossie  Gower's  little 
play.  Sculptors,  historians,  students  of  social  science, 
would,  in  ages  yet  to  come,  I  am  sure,  term  this  the 
age  of  the  Horse ;  they  would,  I  say,  if  Mrs.  Gower 
and  her  set  shall  even  leave  a  wrack  behind.  But  the 
wracks  they  leave  behind  are,  alas  !  too  often  not  their 
own.  And  to  others,  perhaps,  to  Jem  Starbuck  and 
the  workers  in  the  Allegheny  country,  as  well  as  to 
the  future  historian,  this  age  may  rather  seem  the  age 
of  Coal. 

So  Mamie  Livingstone  went  to  the  show,  and  the 

20 


306  First  Harvests. 

show  was  very  fine  indeed.  First  there  was  a  pack 
of  fox-hounds — real  fox-hounds— and  then  there  was 
a  pack  of  beagles,  sixteen  or  more,  with  little  curly 
tails  ;  and  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  rode  some  miles 
behind  them,  on  a  scented  track,  and  jumped  several 
fences.  And  Charlie  looked  very  smart  in  his  pink 
coat,  and  took  the  leaps  most  daringly  ;  and  there- 
upon Mamie  did  admire  him  very  much,  and  there- 
fore begin  to  think  seriously  of  him  for  a  husband. 

And  the  dinner  was  exquisitely  cooked,  and  quite 
bright  and  gay ;  and  the  men  had  all  red  coats  and 
the  women  all  white  throats ;  and  when  the  ladies 
left  the  table  the  fun  was  even  faster.  For  when  the 
stories  were  all  told,  and  they  could  not  talk  of  the 
ladies,  both  because  many  of  the  husbands  were 
there  and  because  the  subject  was  a  bore  at  best — 
and  the  best  of  it  is  surely  tete-a-tete — and  when 
even  horses  had  been  talked  about  enough,  they  went 
into  the  ball-room,  did  these  merry  dogs,  and  danced 
with  these  fine  ladies ;  only  some  of  them  chose  to 
walk  in  the  lawns  and  over  the  turf  steeple-chase 
course,  where  there  was  shrubbery,  and  hurdles,  and 
much  helping  over  of  carefully  preserved  stone  walls. 

Have  you  had  a  good  time,  reader  ?  Here  we 
have  been  a  hundred  miles  on  the  outside  of  a  coach, 
and  quite  three  weeks  in  the  open  air,  and,  I  am  sure, 
have  had  dinners  and  balls  galore.  Take  your  last 
deep  breath  of  all  these  joys,  for  all  even  of  our 
lines,  may  not  fall  in  such  pleasant  places.  What — 
we  shall  not  say  we  are  tired  of  it — we  who  have 
been  with  the  fortunate  few  ?  Why,  who  can  make 


Mamie   Goes  to  the  Show.  307 

more,  who  could  make  more,  of  life  than  they  ?  Is 
it  not  a  pleasant  play  ? 

Well,  a  secret,  then :  Van  Kull  and  Wemyss,  too, 
are  bored,  and  even  Tony  Duval  finds  it  slow.  For 
Flossie  Gower  I  speak  not ;  she  has  a  great,  still  fed, 
self-pride,  and  when  that,  too,  grows  stale — she  is  too 
clever  to  let  it  bore  her — she  will  leave  it  first ;  and 
Birmingham  is  saved  by  his  British  atmosphere  and 
healthy,  dormant  brain. 

All  this  is  why  Charlie  Townley — no,  Charlie  fears 
rather  that  he  may  not  always  be  rich  enough  to  keep 
it  up,  and  is  making  up  to  poor  Mamie,  in  conse- 
quence. But  that  is  why,  or  all  these  things  are  why 
— for  those  who  make  of  earnest  life  a  play  needs 
must  make  it  stronger  as  the  play  goes  on — Van  Kull 
walked  still  with  Mrs  Hay,  that  night ;  and  even 
Birmingham  made  overtures  to  Kitty  Farnum  ;  and 
Charlie  did  propose  to  Mamie  Livingstone ;  and 
Caryl  Wemyss  propo — told  Mrs.  Gower  that  he  loved 
her. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

KITTY  FARNUM  TAKES  THE   PRIZE. 

OHN  HAVILAND  was  in  town  that 
summer.  Many  things  kept  him  there  ; 
he  had  his  own  business,  and  he  had  hi-s 
schools,  and  he  had  his  workmen's  clubs. 
And  just  now  he  had,  more  than  all,  the  new  young 
men's  club  he  was  founding  on  the  Bowery.  He 
would  usually  dine  at  his  own  club;  and  there  the 
men  he  most  commonly  met  were  Derwent  and  Lu- 
cie  Gower.  There  seemed  to  be  a  certain  bond  of 
sympathy  between  these  men.  Gower  also  was  kept 
in  town  by  his  business ;  for  Gower  had  his  duties 
in  life,  and  performed  them  punctiliously,  too.  Der- 
went— well,  Derwent  was  kept  there  by  much  the 
same  reasons  that  kept  John  at  home ;  the  reader  may 
know  them  later.  Furthermore,  these  men,  not  being 
pleasure-seekers,  were  all  three  unhappy — for  the  mo- 
ment, only,  let  us  hope. 

Haviland  lived  most  of  the  time  on  his  little  sloop, 
which  he  kept  moored  at  Bay  Ridge,  and  he  took 
little  cruises  in  her  when  the  wind  served.  Derwent 
was  apt  to  be  with  him  on  these  ;  he  was  an  enthusi- 
ast in  everything,  and  just  now  was  much  interested 
in  John's  work  in  New  York.  Then  there  was  poli- 


Kitty  Farnum    Takes  the  Prize.      309 

tics ;  the  primaries  were  already  beginning,  and  John 
was  at  work  over  these ;  a  most  fascinating  subject 
for  Derwent,  who  was  fond  of  saying  that  the  most 
noticeable  industries  in  all  "  property-democracies " 
had  been  plied  by  those  who  made  a  trade  of  patriot- 
ism ;  but  John  was  not  a  trader.  It  was  Derwent  who 
called  ours  an  age  of  coal ;  but  "  machine  civilization" 
was  his  favorite  term  for  the  nineteenth  century,  and 
just  now  his  notion  was  that  property  was  the  pas- 
turage that  gave  life  to  the  monster  that  he  fought. 

Certainly,  it  had  been  an  evil  year  for  those  who 
thought  and  hoped.  That  showed  itself  even  in  the 
primaries,  where  now  the  local  leaders  found  it  hard 
to  keep  their  rank  and  file  content.  Still  less  could 
John  get  on,  with  his  abstract  talk  of  pure  govern- 
ment and  simple  laws.  Sovereign  voters  were  show- 
ing a  strange  tendency  to  go  in  directly  for  abstract 
benefits,  or  what  they  conceived  to  be  such.  Even 
city  workers  were  discontented  ;  and  there  was  said  to 
be  much  misery  in  the  mining  districts.  The  coal 
magnates — Tamms,  Duval,  and  Remington — finding 
that  that  ichor  of  our  civilization  was  growing  too 
plentiful,  had  laid  their  heads  together  and  were  "  di- 
minishing the  output ;"  that  is,  they  forbade  that 
more  than  a  certain  number  of  tons  should  be  mined 
per  week.  Thus  did  they  not  only  cut  off  that  draught 
of  life  from  the  general  social  fabric,  but  about  one- 
third  of  the  cupbearers  thereof  were  thrown  out  of 
work.  Upon  this,  many  of  the  rest  had  struck.  Their 
places  in  the  mines  had  promptly  been  filled  by  other 
human  energy  in  the  shape  of  so  many  head  of  human 


3io  First  Harvests. 

beings,  male  and  female,  shipped  from  Poland ; 
while  the  strikers  and  even  some  of  the  Poles,  who 
had  escaped  and  could  read  and  write,  were  making 
trouble.  But  these  themes  are  too  heavy  for  our 
slight  pen ;  except  such  outcome  of  it  as  even  all 
the  world  might  see — and  Mrs.  Flossie  Gower  may 
feel. 

And,  if  politics  had  thus  all  gone  askew,  John  was 
just  a  shade  discouraged  with  his  social  work  as  well. 
Many  a  talk  did  he  and  Derwent  have  about  it,  lying 
becalmed  off  the  sullen  Jersey  coast,  smoking  their 
midnight  cigars  beneath  the  sky.  "  They  will  come 
to  the  club  fast  enough,"  he  would  say,  "  and  read  a 
newspaper  or  two,  and  smoke  a  pipe — when  they  have 
not  money  enough  to  pay  for  drinks  at  the  bar-room. 
They  will  listen  to  what  we  tell  them,  politely 
enough.  But  what  I  find  is  the  hardest  thing  to  cope 
with  is  a  sort  of  scoffing  humor :  as  if  we  were  all 
muffs,  and  they  knew  it,  and  only  put  up  with  it  so 
long  as  it  suited  their  convenience. 

"  A  curious  thing  this  jeering  habit  in  your  democ- 
racy," muttered  Derwent.  "  They  have  caught  the 
trick  of  Voltaire's  cynicism  and  turned  it  upwards. 
They  are  incredulous  of  excellence  and  of  benevolence 
in  high  places — even  of  yours,  old  fellow,  I  am  afraid," 
he  added.  "  I  never  could  see  how  there  could  be 
class-hatred  in  America  ;  but  class-hatred  there  cer- 
tainly is." 

"  I  talk  to  these  boys  of  books  and  pictures,  and 
the  joys  of  art,  and  the  delights  of  nature ;  and  I  fear, 
if  they  do  not  cry  '  Oh,  chestnuts '  at  me,  or  some 


Kitty  Farnum    Takes  the  Prize.      311 

other  current  slang,  it  is  out  of  mere  good-nature  and 
because  they  like  me.  Their  delight  in  nature  is  lim- 
ited to  the  nearest  base-ball  field,  the  newspapers  they 
take  up  are  generally  those  printed  on  pink  paper, 
and  as  for  books — I  doubt  if  many  of  them  ever 
opened  one,  except  he  knew  it  was  obscene." 

"  All  literature  has  had  but  two  sources — religious 
hymns  and  merry  stories,"  said  Derwent,  gravely. 
"  These  boys  must  naturally  begin  with  that  one 
which  is  left  them." 

"  Ah,  they  are  such  finished  positivists !  As  for 
fearing  the  Roman  Church,  it  is  but  an  old  wives' 
tale  to  them." 

"  How  much  did  our  friends  at  La  Lisiere  care  for 
this  higher  side  of  life  ?  "  said  Derwent.  "  It  is  true 
they  substitute  wine  for  whiskey,  and  straight-limbed 
horses  for  bow-legged  bull-pups,  and  steeple-chases 
for  sparring,  and  French  novels  for  the  pink  newspa- 
per. I  fancy  our  two  sets  of  friends  would  understand 
one  another,  Tony  Duval  and  Birmingham  and  your 
boys,  much  better  than  you  do  after  all.  As  for  Mr. 
Van  Kull,  he  would  be  a  hero  with  either  lot,  and 
Caryl  Wemyss  a  muff." 

"There  are  plenty  of  rich  people  who  are  not  like 
Mrs.  Gower's  set." 

"  True,  but  they  do  not  advertise  themselves,  they 
do  not  make  a  show,  they  do  not  '  lead  society ' — sug- 
gestive phrase.  And  probably  you  are  the  first  rich 
man  of  that  class  whom  your  Bowery  friends  have 
ever  seen.  No  wonder  that  they  set  you  down  for  a 
muff!" 


312  First  Harvests. 

"  Of  course  a  poor  boy  covets  his  neighbor's  goods, 
if  he  sees  that  his  goods  are  the  only  thing  the  neigh- 
bor values,"  sighed  John. 

Thus  did  these  two  hold  converse,  and  often  Lucie 
Gower  with  them.  Indeed  Lucie  Gower  had  got 
quite  interested  in  John's  plans,  and  if  he  did  not  feel 
that  his  personal  assistance  would  be  of  much  value, 
he  helped  John  out  with  money,  which  was  almost 
as  much  to  the  point.  The  simple  fellow  was  not 
happy,  and  he  did  not  quite  know  why;  surely  his 
wife,  the  admired  leader  of  all  their  world,  was  all 
that  he  desired  ?  At  times  he  would  seem  on  the 
point  of  confiding  with  John,  and  would  turn  his  eyes 
to  him  with  the  troubled  look  of  some  not  healthy  ani- 
mal ;  a  look,  alas !  which  John  saw  no  way  to  answer. 

But  if  John  made  little  progress  with  his  mission- 
ary work,  James  Starbuck  made  greatly  more  with 
his.  The  discontent  on  the  line  of  the  Allegheny 
Central  Railroad  and  in  the  coal  mines  was  certainly 
spreading  ;  and  Starbuck,  in  his  capacity  of  travelling 
inspector,  had  much  opportunity  to  see  this  and  to 
work  upon  it.  Now  and  then  he  would  enter  Havi- 
land's  club-room  ;  he  had  had  himself  inscribed  as  a 
member  thereof  ;  and  each  time  it  was  noticeable  that 
he  would  take  many  of  the  young  men  away  to  some 
secret  meeting  of  his  own.  John  at  first  had  wel- 
comed him  as  an  ally;  he  was  much  better  educated 
than  most  of  the  young  men,  and  his  influence  was 
certainly  for  sobriety,  at  least.  But  of  late  he  had 
begun  to  doubt. 

Meantime  Tamms,  the  man  who  ruled  the   Alle- 


Kitty  Farnum    Takes  the  Prize.      313 

gheny  Central,  was  continually  at  the  office  ;  for  he 
was  not  without  anxiety  about  all  this.  His  clever 
manoeuvres  of  the  previous  summer  had  had  one  re- 
sult of  doubtful  benefit ;  it  had  left  him  saddled  with 
all  the  Starbuck  Oil  Works  stock,  and  nearly  all  the 
Allegheny  Central.  A  time  of  extreme  prosperity 
had  been  expected  by  him  that  year;  he  had  just 
made  one  great  monopoly  of  all  the  neighboring  coal 
interests ;  but  the  one  thing  even  clever  Tamms 
could  not  see  and  provide  against  was  a  general  re- 
volt among  the  men  and  women  whose  lives,  as  he 
thought,  he  had  bought  and  paid  for.  Mrs.  Tamms 
and  the  daughters  had  come  back  from  Europe, 
loaded  with  rich  laces  and  new  gowns,  and  paying  a 
pretty  figure  therefor  at  the  custom-house ;  but  with- 
out any  offers  of  marriage  as  yet,  or  at  least  without 
sufficiently  brilliant  ones. 

Charlie,  too,  was  at  the  office  frequently,  and  when 
he  was  there,  looked  into  things  pretty  closely ; 
though  Arthur  was  still  revelling  in  the  new  delights 
of  Newport.  Old  Mr.  Townley  would  come  in  regu- 
larly once  a  month,  and  cut  the  coupons  off  the  bonds 
of  his  trusts.  Thence  he  would  drive  up  to  his  club 
— he  was  the  oldest  member  now — and  wag  his  white 
head  sagely  among  his  friends,  financiers  emeriti  like 
himself,  and  tell  them  what  a  treasure  he  had  in  his 
clever  young  man  Tamms. 

Gracie  came  back  to  her  aunt's  house  early  in  Octo- 
ber ;  but  she  came  back  alone.  Mamie  had  been 
quite  taken  up  by  Mrs.  Gower;  why  it  should  be  es- 
teemed an  honor  by  young  girls  to  be  taken  up  by 


314  First  Harvests. 

Mrs.  Gower,  I  leave  unsaid ;  but  such  it  was.  She 
translated  them  to  that  higher  sphere  which  she  had  so 
completely  made  her  own.  Before  such  promotion  a 
maiden  was  simply  a  pretty  girl,  nothing  more ;  after  it 
she  became"  the  thing,"  for  married  men  to  flirt  with, 
for  young  men  to  pay  attention  to,  and  perhaps,  final- 
ly, for  one  of  them  to  marry.  So  Mamie  Livingstone 
was  staying  with  her  at  La  Listire. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Charlie  Townley  was  there 
too.  If  Flossie  was  somewhat  sceptical  of  other 
worlds,  she  was  quick  to  recognize  an  eternal  fitness 
of  things  in  this.  And  what  more  fit  than  that  fash- 
ion should  wed  wealth,  and  a  young  man  who  had  so 
well  proved  his  taste  in  spending  money  should  be 
given  a  pretty  helpmeet  and  with  her  the  wherewithal 
to  shine  ?  Mrs.  Gower  had  a  good-natured  custom 
of  pensioning  off,  in  this  pleasant  manner,  her  old  ador- 
ers; for  all  her  loves,  so  far,  had  been  platonic  affairs 
of  fashion  and  make-believe,  like  the  Bronx  hounds' 
fox-hunting.  For  Flossie  had  never  been  in  love  in  her 
life  ;  I  question  if  she  could  be  ;  though  hoping  always 
much  to  be  the  cause  that  love  should  be  in  others. 

Charlie,  then,  found  a  strong  ally  in  his  old  friend, 
and  we  may  be  sure  he  pushed  his  advantage  to  the 
utmost.  Caryl  Wemyss  was  happy  too  to  have  him 
there  ;  for  Charlie's  pursuit  was  obvious,  and  the  pack 
of  tongues  will  often  follow  only  one  such  scent  at  a 
time.  And  though  ready  enough  to  startle  the  world 
when  the  proper  time  came,  Wemyss  did  not  wish  to 
diminish  the  effect  of  his  coup  by  anticipation.  More- 
over he  had  not  quite  made  up  his  mind. 


Kitty  Farnum    Takes  the  Prize.      315 

As  for  old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Livingstone,  they  only 
knew  that  Mamie  was  off  enjoying  herself ;  which  our 
parents  now  have  learned  to  be  also  part  of  pre-es- 
tablished harmony.  Gracie  was  their  comfort  now  ; 
they  were  fonder  of  her  than  of  their  own  daughter, 
I  think.  But  Gracie  was  more  troubled.  She  had 
taken  pretty  little  Mamie  to  her  heart.  Down-stairs, 
with  the  old  people,  she  was  a  sweet  presence,  like 
still  sunlight  after  rain ;  she  read  to  them,  and  talked, 
and  smiled,  and  helped.  But  up-stairs,  I  wonder,  in 
the  temple  of  her  maiden's  chamber  ?  What  shall  we 
do  for  Gracie,  I  beseech  you,  reader?  We  can  find 
all  their  happinesses,  in  this  world,  for  Charlie,  for 
Flossie  Gower  and  Mr.  Tamms,  and  even,  through 
his  vanity,  for  Wemyss — but  how  for  her  ?  And  Gra- 
cie was — she  was  very  lovely  and  contented,  and  she 
had  the  sunniest  of  smiles;  she  was  one  for  some  of 
us  to  love  perhaps — but  she  was  not  exactly  happy, 
you  see.  But  what  can  we  do  ?  We  cannot  go  with 
her  to  her  own  room,  when  she  is  alone  ;  we  may  not 
dare  to  console  her ;  we  may  not  venture  in,  but  stand 
awe-struck,  hand  upon  the  door.  I  wonder  what  hap- 
pens there,  when  the  light  figure  is  bent  down,  and 
the  face  forgets  to  smile,  and  the  dark  eyes  look  out, 
unrestrained  by  other's  presence,  on  the  four  mute 
walls  ? 

Why  did  Haviland — yes,  and  Derwent  too — go  to 
the  house  so  often  ?  When  Mamie  came  home, 
Charlie  Townley  came  often,  too  ;  and  Gracie,  begin- 
ning her  winter  work,  would  have  left  them  all  to  her, 
but  that  they  rather  sought  herself.  And,  as  if  by 


316  First  Harvests. 

some  strange  chemistry,  she  began  to  feel  that  these 
two  had  some  understanding  with  her,  of  things  both 
human  and  divine. 

See,  there  she  is,  standing  in  the  shadow ;  John  is 
talking  to  her.  At  a  distance  sits  Derwent,  pulling 
his  tawny  long  moustache,  his  blue  eyes  fixed  simply 
on  her  like  a  young  child's.  Here  is  Mamie  Living- 
stone, prettier,  some  would  say,  than  Gracie,  with  her 
nameless  touch  of  style,  and  girlish  distinction  ;  she 
ripples  and  flashes  like  a  summer  brook,  as  Charlie 
bends  over  her,  so  that  the  rosebud  in  his  coat  is  just 
beneath  her  eyes,  and  he  says  something  to  her  about  it. 

But  Mamie  was  not  the  only  girl  who  gave  trouble 
to  her  friends  that  autumn.  In  another  street — the 
Fifty-Somethingeth — sits  the  Beauty,  Kitty  Farnum, 
lounging  back  lazily  in  her  chair,  her  perfect  arms 
clasped  behind  her  head,  a  sort  of  democratic  Cleo- 
patra, looking,  with  her  silent  idle  scorn,  at  her  mother, 
who  is  chiding  her.  Her  mother  is  carefully  dressed, 
well-educated,  worldly  enough  in  all  conscience  sake ; 
and  yet  there  is  something  about  her,  about  her  or 
about  her  voice,  that  makes  the  haughty  beauty  sicken 
with  a  consciousness  of  difference  between  them. 
Kitty  has  the  pride  of  a  coronet,  if  not  the  taste  for 
one. 

"  I  heard  you  positively  discouraged  him  at  Lenox." 
The  mother  is  speaking  of  Lord  Birmingham;  and  the 
daughter  is  thinking  that,  when  a  girl,  her  mother 
must  have  been  admired  of  "gentlemen  friends"  and 
have  worn  gold  ornaments  about  her  neck.  For  Kitty 
has  that  intense  appreciation  of  small  differences  of 


Kitty  Farnum    Takes  the  Prize.      317 

social  habit  that  a  clever  child  inherits  when  parents 
are  acutely  conscious  of  their  lack  of  social  position. 
If  the  factory  and  railroads  and  exchanges  be  the  all- 
in-all  of  life,  these  things  are  trifles;  but  our  econ- 
omists who  ignore  them  forget  how  much  of  life  is  left 
besides  mere  work,  how  great  a  part  in  life  is  played 
by  self-esteem.  Your  baron  of  the  middle  ages  scorned 
them,  for  he  had  his  horse  and  battle-axe  and  coat-of- 
mail ;  and,  perhaps,  had  you  given  these  to  his  hind, 
the  churl  might  have  made  as  good  a  baron,  and  the 
baron  would  have  been  like  any  other  soldier,  in  his 
eating  and  his  thinking  and  his  lying  down.  But  to- 
day you  put  these  two  together,  and  they  speak  two 
words,  and  each  knows — and  much  more  their  wives 
and  daughters — that  they  "  move  in  different  spheres." 
But  why  then,  in  this  democracy,  does  the  one  sphere, 
in  successive  stages  as  you  ascend,  hate,  envy,  imitate, 
and  seek  to  enter  the  other?  Alas!  if  they  were 
better  men,  even  as  our  mediaeval  baron  was  the 
better  man  than  his  churl,  the  folly  of  the  imitation 
would  be  gone.  But  amour-propre  still  rules  human- 
ity, although  democracy  apportion  out  its  goods,  and 
when  amour-propre  shall  turn  from  show  of  affluence 
to  proof  of  excellence,  we  shall  see  great  things.  And 
love  it  may  be  yet  that  makes  the  world  go  round  ; 
but,  alas !  in  so  many  marriages,  both  sides  love  them- 
selves. 

"  It  was  reported  even  in  the  Herald,  that  it  was  to 
be  a  match,"  said  Mrs.  Farnum,  plaintively.  "  And 
now,  he  has  gone  off  on  his  yacht,  and  they  will  say 
that  he  has  jilted  you." 


318  First  Harvests. 

"  Mother,  I  will  marry  whom  I  like — and  when  I 
like,"  said  Kitty. 

"  But  tell  me,  my  darling — you  do  not  like  anyone 
else  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Farnum,  coaxingly. 

"  My  dear  mother " 

"  I  do  wish  you  would  say  '  mamma,'  and  not  insist 
on  calling  me  mother."  And  she  thought  hastily  over 
the  men  she  knew  her  child  had  seen  that  summer. 
"  I  hope  it  is  not  Van  Kull — or  that  young  Holyoke," 
she  added,  in  increasing  terror. 

Kitty  turned  her  back  and  intimated  so  plainly  a 
dismissal  that  the  obedient  mother  felt  constrained  to 

g°- 

"  It  is  young  Holyoke,"  she  thought,  with  a  sigh 
that  was  meant  to  soften  her  obdurate  daughter's 
heart. 

She  poured  her  troubles  in  her  tired  husband's  ear 
that  night :  "  Kate  shall  marry  whom  she  likes,"  said 
that  unimaginative  person.  "  I  guess  her  half  million 
will  be  worth  any  beggarly  marquis  of  them  all.  You 
weren't  a  countess,  when  I  married  you."  And  Mrs. 
Farnum  had  to  cry  in  silence. 

Poor  humanity !  How  much  trouble  do  you  give 
yourselves.  As  for  Kitty  Farnum,  she  had  been  asked 
in  marriage  by  the  Earl  already  ;  and  had  refused  him 
twice. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

FLOSSIE   ENJOYS   HERSELF. 

jLOSSIE  GOWER  lay  idly  upon  her  couch ; 
it  was  her  reception-day.  She  was  wait- 
ing for  the  monotonous  round  of  callers ; 
and,  while  she  waited,  she  gave  herself  to 
reminiscences.  It  was  not  usual  for  her  to  ply  her 
memory  so  hard ;  but  to-day,  thinking  of  her  whole 
life,  and  planning  her  campaign  to  Russia,  all  the 
events  of  her  career  passed  in  review  before  her.  Her 
dainty  morning  dress  curled  away  from  the  throat,  and 
rippled  gracefully,  in  a  cascade  of  laces,  over  to  the 
ground  ;  simple  and  pure  as  any  Endymion  might 
clothe  his  dream  in.  The  neck  was  white  as  ever ; 
but  the  face  had  a  wearied  look  the  world  had  never 
seen,  a  pout  of  unheroic  discontent,  like  any  other 
woman's  who  was  old  and  out  of  humor.  And  yet 
our  heroine  was  telling  to  herself  her  triumphs,  like 
beads. 

She  had  early  learned  that  she  was  rich,  and  thus 
had  quickly  found  that  riches  were,  alone,  unsatisfying. 
No  pedant  moralist  was  more  sure  of  this  than  she. 
But  there  they  parted  ;  while  the  moralist  might  prate 
of  other  worlds,  or  the  love  of  humanity,  Flossie  was 
a  positivist.  No  unknown  world  should  drag  her, 


320  First  Plar  vests. 

Saturn-like,  from  her  chosen  orbit,  and  bid  her  leave 
her  balls,  her  troops  of  male  admirers,  for  nunneries 
or  the  domestic  fireside.  Unknowables  might  be  dis- 
regarded :  she  knew  no  other  world  than  this  ;  and  as 
for  the  love  of  humanity,  she  sought  it  for  herself. 

Of  course  we  men  do  not  understand  the  keen  de- 
light that  Flossie  took  in  swaying  from  his  balance 
every  man  she  met.  We  are  not  pleased  when  a  pretty 
woman  shows  her  sensibility  to  us.  It  may  even 
rather  shock  us;  we  do  not  expect  that  sort  of  thing; 
moreover,  if  obvious  to  us,  it  is  perhaps  seen  by  others 
and  that  cheapens  the  conquest. 

But  it  is  a  woman's  carriere  to  work  her  will  and 
worth  through  men.  And  what  else  is  her  whole 
training,  her  education,  the  lessons  we  read  to  her  of 
history  ?  You  may  talk,  and  raise  statues,  in  your 
female  colleges,  of  Princess  Idas  and  Corinnes ;  but  it  is 
Helen,  Cleopatra,  Heloise,  who  have  left  their  woman's 
mark  upon  the  world  ;  and  they  are  women  enough, 
yet,  these  Vassar  girls,  to  know  it. 

Still,  it  was  some  years  before  Flossie  took  her 
natural  course  and  found  in  men's  admiration  her  own 
highest  reward.  She  had  seen  so  much  of  men,  her 
brother  and  his  friends,  in  her  early  youth,  that  per- 
haps she  had  a  little  contempt  for  an  animal  so  easily 
tamed,  so  soon  domesticated.  Whether  she  had  yet 
found  the  king  of  the  forest  in  her  Boston  Paris,  we 
must  leave  to  the  reader.  He  was  the  only  lion  she  had. 

Perhaps  the  earlier  battles  and  campaigns,  the 
Italys  and  Marengos,  were  the  best,  after  all.  Yet 
they  were  so  easy  !  Poor  Lucie  had  been  such  easy 


Flossie  Enjoys  Herself.  321 

prey,  even  to  a  Nantucket  neophyte  !  And  to  conquer 
the  world  of  New  York  scarce  justified  a  Corsican 
lieutenant's  triumph.  To  trample  on  the  patrician 
matron,  and  dazzle  the  jewels  from  Cornelia  herself, 
was  hardly  harder.  Then  she  even,  in  her  wealthy 
way,  had  tried  to  serve  the  Lord  ;  but  found  that 
fruitless,  too.  A  fashionable  ritual  was  all  she  had 
retained. 

Then  she  had  led,  and  they  had  followed.  Thorough 
ditch,  thorough  briar,  from  fad  to  folly.  Was  she  not 
the  high  priestess  of  that  circle  debonair,  known  as  well 
in  Boston  or  in  Philadelphia  as  in  New  York,  as  the 
"  married  women's  set  ?  "  They  pretended  to  be  in 
love  with  one  another's  husbands,  and  they  dazzled 
young  girls ;  and  led  their  Pauls  away  from  such 
Virginias  as  were  "  coming  out." 

But  all  this  was  not  the  tithe  of  her  triumph.  Some 
had  tumbled  in  the  ditches,  or  been  torn  and  spotted 
in  the  briars.  Surely  the  glory  of  these  was  hers  also  ? 
She  set  the  pace ;  and  some  had  failed,  and  some  had 
fled,  and  some  had  forged,  and  some  had  fallen  through. 
But  she  had  always  stayed  at  the  head,  indifferent, 
frivolous,  successful.  Then  was  she  not  a  patroness 
of  art  and  literature  ?  She  dabbled  in  politics,  too, 
and  went  to  Washington,  and  corrupted  simple  Con- 
gressmen, and  made  herself  a  model  to  their  wives. 

Mrs.  Gower  was  at  home,  this  afternoon ;  and  she 
rose  and  swept  her  robes  to  the  adjoining  dressing- 
room  for  another  gown ;  in  this  one  she  was  visible 
only  to  her  maids,  her  maker,  and  her  husband.  It  was 
five  or  ten  minutes  when  she  came  back;  her  pout  was 

21 


322  First  Harvests. 

gone,  and  in  its  place  a  smile — her/^jr  de  fascination 
as  it  were.  She  graciously  beamed  upon  the  two 
young  girls  who  had  come  to  make  their  dinner-call 
upon  her,  and  was  graciously  pleased  even  to  apolo- 
gize for  keeping  them  waiting.  And  their  hearts  were 
won  by  her  at  once — they  were  the  very  poor  de- 
scendants of  one  of  the  very  oldest  pre-revolutionary 
families — and  they  talked  enthusiastically  about  her, 
going  home,  and  wondered  if  it  could  really  be  true 
what  the  world  said  about  her  and  that  Mr.  Wemyss 
from  Boston.  They  were  stylishly  dressed  and  poor, 
and  waiting  to  be  married  too. 

Then  came  in  Mrs.  James  De  Witt,  ne'e  Duval, 
just  made  a  matron  and  fresh  from  a  wedding-journey 
which  had  proved  somewhat  slow  to  her ;  Strephon 
and  Chloe  did  not  go  on  wedding  journeys,  I  sup- 
pose; it  was  Helen  and  Paris  began  the  fashion. 
Then  Mrs.  Malgam  came  in  ;  and  Flossie  had  her 
usual  velvet  battle  with  her  dear  enemy  and  rival 
friend.  Mrs.  Gower  envied  her  her  stupid  youth,  and 
silly  round  cheeks.  Shall  I  go  and  leave  the  field 
with  her  ?  she  thought.  But  the  field  would  be  hers, 
anyhow,  in  a  few  years. 

Then  there  came  in  two  prying  matrons,  of  those 
whom  Flossie  had  defeated  in  the  world's  esteem,  so 
many  years  ago.  They  had  lived  to  see  their  fiats 
disregarded,  and  their  reception-rooms  depleted,  and 
their  daughters  put  out  and  their  sons  dazzled,  all  by 
this  little  Flossie  Starbuck ;  and  they  loved  her  ac- 
cordingly. Would  their  hour  of  triumph  never  come 
again  ?  Flossie  wondered  why  they  came  to-day ; 


Flossie  Enjoys  Herself.  323 

they  had  not  been  to  see  her,  save  in  the  most  sym- 
bolical of  paste-board  calls,  since  three  months  after 
her  marriage.  But  they  had  never,  since  that  first 
triumphant  season,  dared  to  question  her  divine  right, 
by  wit  and  beauty  and  style,  to  rule.  Could  it  be 
that  they  really  meant  to  bury  the  hatchet  and  sur- 
render unconditionally  ?  Or  did  they  scent,  like 
envious  ravens,  her  coming  overthrow  ?  She  was  in- 
differently polite  to  them ;  but  made  little  effort  to 
conceal  that  she  was  bored. 

Dear  me,  will  a  man  never  come  ?  Mrs.  Gower 
rose,  when  they  had  gone,  and  pressed  her  feverish 
brow  against  the  mirror.  How  marked  the  wrinkles 
were  beneath  the  eyes !  Men's  voices  were  heard  at 
last,  and  Flossie  turned  her  back  to  the  window.  It 
was  only  a  silly  fellow,  an  artist,  whom  Mrs.  Gower 
had  made,  and  who  now  presumed  upon  it ;  and  with 
him  a  dancing  boy.  The  boy  was  nice  enough  at 
germans ;  and  was  at  least  a  gentleman,  but  the  other 
was  only  a  swell,  which  even  Flossie  Gower  realized 
to  be  a  different  thing.  Genius  soars  above  birth,  so 
Van  Smeer  disowned  his  mother ;  but  he  preferred 
to  be  known  as  a  gentleman  rather  than  as  an  artist, 
and  only  painted  the  portraits  of  his  fair  friends  care- 
lessly, a  la  Congreve,  and  by  way  of  flirtation,  as  it 
were. 

It  was  fun  for  Flossie  to  snub  this  man,  and  see  his 
color  change.  Mrs.  Wilton  Hay  had  come  in,  the 
woman  to  whom  Flossie  had  suspected  Van  Smeer 
of  transferring  his  incense.  "  I  have  been  thinking 
for  some  time  of  setting  up  an  establishment  in  Eng- 


324  First  Harvests. 

land,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Hay,  who  was  going  back. 
"  My  friend  Lord  Footlight  is  by  way  of  having  a  sort 
of  historical  pageant  in  his  theatre  at  his  place  in 
Surrey,  and  is  very  keen  to  have  me  come."  To 
which  Mrs.  Hay  made  no  reply,  but  Mrs.  Gower  did. 
"  Do,  Mr.  Van  Smeer,"  she  said  ;  "  I  should  think  her 
native  air  would  do  your  poor  mother  so  much  good." 

Van  Smeer  turned  livid  and  ugly,  but  had  to  turn 
and  smile  to  Kitty  Farnum,  who  entered  then,  for 
Kitty  was  said  to  be  that  season's  card.  "  Who  was 
his  mother  ?  "  whispered  Mrs.  Hay.  "  An  English 
ballet-girl,"  said  Flossie  in  reply,  and  Van  Smeer 
knew  she  did,  and  had  to  leave  her  unavenged.  But 
I  know  not  what  he  said  to  Mrs.  Hay,  when  those 
two  left  together. 

Mahlon  Blewitt  came  in.  He  represented  yet  an- 
other period  in  Mrs.  G-ower's  life,  and  she  had  been 
his  Beatrice.  But  this  Dante  had  been  born  in  West- 
ern Ohio,  and  she  had  taught  him  a  profound  disbe- 
lief in  all  divine  comedies,  the  Inferno  even  with  the 
rest.  He  had  come  from  his  father's  vast  wheat-fields 
and  the  infinite  prairies,  to  New  York,  full  of  dreams 
of  Shelley  and  of  Chatterton ;  and  Mrs.  Gower  had 
taken  him  up.  Then  he  had  gone  back  from  her  to 
his  dreams.  But  he  had  really  fancied  him  in  love 
with  her,  and  somehow  her  presence  had  remained 
with  him  and  made  his  dreams  absurd.  Now  he  was 
a  man  of  fashion,  and  turned  his  white  ties  more  care- 
fully than  the  sonnets  he  still  peddled  in  large  quan- 
tities to  all  the  magazines;  and  he  cynically  talked 
about  his  country's  decadence  like  any  Caryl  Wemyss, 


Flossie  Enjoys  Herself.  325 

whom  he  chiefly  envied,  and  of  whose  verses  he  wrote 
bitter  reviews  upon  the  sly.  Had  he  really  loved  his 
clever  patroness,  the  Inferno  at  least  might  have  been 
left  him  to  do ;  but  he  knew  now  that  he  had  not 
loved  her — only  his  dreams  had  seemed  a  poorer 
thing  since  Flossie  Gower  had  shared  them.  The 
Polish  minister  came  in  ;  he  knew  his  Flossie  well 
and  liked  her  much  ;  he  had  seen  women  something 
like  her  in  continental  courts,  but  known  none  so 
bright,  so  good-natured,  or  half  so  free  from  danger. 
With  him  was  young  Harvey  Washburn,  a  civil-ser- 
vice-reformer who  had  been  sent  to  Congress  to  re- 
form the  world,  and  whom  Von  Hillersdorf  was 
forming  for  it.  Flossie  would  have  liked  to  go  to 
Washington,  and  have  political  power,  and  vulgarize 
that  too  ;  but  there  the  mighty  middle  class  control, 
who  did  not  understand  her ;  by  the  time  they  do, 
perhaps,  the  myriads  who  make  no  play  of  life  will 
have  their  say,  and  break  her,  with  other  butterflies. 
Poor  Flossie  !  she  does  amount  to  much,  after  all,  in 
all  America;  and  is  angrily  conscious  of  it. 

And  now  comes  in  our  hero,  Arthur  Holyoke ;  no 
one,  even  Von  Hillersdorf,  is  more  perfect  a  man  of 
the  world  than  he.  Well  he  places  his  bow  and  smile, 
his  outspoken  compliment  here,  his  whispered  word  of 
adoration  there;  his  coat  is  as  well  cut  as  Jimmy 
De  Witt's,  who  has  also  come,  some  time  later  than 
his  bride.  But  no  one  of  these  is  earnest,  thinks  Flos- 
sie, and  is  bored  again,  and  glad  when  they  all  go, 
and  Mr.  Killian  Van  Kull  appears.  Here  at  last  is 
her  peer,  one  who  can  understand  her.  Van  Kull  is  a 


326  First  Harvests. 

frank  libertine ;  and  she  likes  him  for  it ;  he  does  not 
play  with  foils ;  he  is  a  viveur,  like  the  puissant  Guy 
Livingstone  who  was  the  hero  that  her  youth  adored. 
Mamie  Livingstone,  by  the  way,  has  come  in  too,  and 
gone  out  with  Charlie  Townley.  Charlie  has  come 
to  present  to  Flossie  his  partner's  lady,  Mrs.  Tamms, 
and  her  marriageable  daughters ;  and  Mrs.  Gower 
will  have  a  new  pleasure  to-morrow,  when  she  meets 
and  cuts  them,  driving  in  the  Park. 

Killian  stays  some  time ;  there  is  a  dark  devil  in 
his  eye  to-day,  and  Mrs.  Gower  thinks  his  pale  face 
never  looked  so  handsome.  When  Mr.  Wemyss  is 
announced,  he  rises  with  a  slight  smile,  and  he  too 
goes  away. 

Mrs.  Gower  is  rude  to  Wemyss ;  she  throws  her- 
self upon  a  sofa,  and  has  the  migraine  ;  he  assumes 
his  devotional  manner  and  makes  bold  to  take  her 
hand.  She  draws  it  away  impatiently. 

"  Have  you  a  headache  ?  "  says  he.  "  I  hoped  you 
would  let  me  go  to  drive  with  you." 

The  carriage  is  ordered  ;  the  pony  carriage  that 
Mrs.  Gower  drives  herself.  He  gets  into  it,  and  she 
after  him  and  takes  the  reins.  It  is  her  whim  to  have 
no  footman  behind  them;  and  Caryl  does  not  dare 
remonstrate,  though  he  thinks  of  it.  He  supposes 
she  is  going  to  the  Park ;  but  she  turns  down  Thirty- 
fourth  Street  and  drives  toward  the  East  River. 
They  come  to  the  ferry  ;  and  she  sends  Wemyss  out  to 
get  the  ticket.  "  Wherever  are  you  going  ?  "  says  he, 
returning. 

"  Why  ?     Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  elope  with 


Flossie  Enjoys  Herself.  327 

you  ? "  She  says  it  with  a  slight  contemptuous 
smile  ;  and  he  is  silent. 

They  come  to  the  Long  Island  shore ;  and  she  rat- 
tles up  the  hill  and  drives  familiarly  through  some 
narrow,  squalid  streets,  where  the  air  is  not  pleasant 
to  breathe  and  the  dank  entries  of  the  close  brick 
houses  swarm  with  half-naked  children. 

Ahead  of  them  now  is  the  group  of  high  chimneys 
and  great  tanks  of  rusty  iron  ;  the  scorching  sky  is  a 
veil  of  brick-red  smoke,  chemical,  unnatural  in  color. 
The  stench  of  oil  is  almost  overpowering ;  but  Flossie 
drives  rapidly  into  the  gate  as  if  it  were  her  own  park 
avenue  at  La  Listire. 

"  Why  have  you  come  in  here  ?  "  says  Caryl  Wem- 
yss  at  last,  looking,  for  the  once,  surprised.  Mrs. 
Gower  has  dropped  the  reins,  and  seems  suddenly 
listless. 

"  It  was  my  favorite  playground  when  I  was  a  girl," 
she  answers,  finally.  "  It  was  a  whim  of  mine  to  see 
the  place  again.  Perhaps  you  did  not  know  that 
here  we  made  our  money  ?  " 

Wemyss  struggles  with  some  speech  about  his  in- 
difference to  the  birthplace  of  the  rose  he  wears ;  but 
Flossie  is  not  hearing  him  ;  her  eyes  wander  over  the 
arid,  unsightly  factory-yard,  the  blue  pyramids  of 
barrels,  and  up  to  the  tramways  high  in  the  air,  and 
the  masts  of  the  iron  ships. 

"  Come,"  she  says ;  "  give  the  reins  to  that  man 
there." 

Wemyss  does  as  he  is  bid,  and  leaves  the  man  with 
a  silver  dollar,  wondering ;  and,  wondering  no  less 


328  First  Harvests. 

himself,  he  follows  Flossie  through  the  iron  maze  she 
seems  to  know  so  well. 

They  go  up  the  foul  ladder  to  the  summit  of  the 
great  storage  tank,  Wemyss  caring  for  his  fine  over- 
coat, and  almost  sickened  with  the  heavy  smell  of  the 
crude  petroleum,  while  Flossie's  delicate  nostrils  di- 
late as  she  breathes  it  in  once  more.  She  guides  him 
to  the  "  tail-house,"  where  the  first  run  of  naphtha 
has  just  begun,  mobile,  metallic,  with  its  evil  shine. 
Flossie  looks  at  it  closely,  and  notes,  with  an  adept's 
eye,  the  hour  of  the  run.  A  few  hours  more  and  it 
will  be  standard,  water-white,  as  she  has  made  her- 
self; but  she  with  gold,  not  tested  yet  with  fire. 
Then  she  takes  him  to  the  spraying-house,  where  the 
tested  oil  lies  lazily,  girdled  by  the  sun  with  brilliant 
rings,  fair  to  look  upon  as  any  sylvan  spring.  This 
finest  oil  shall  burn  in  quiet  household  lamps ;  it  is 
the  naphtha,  surface  oil,  that  flies  to  gas  and  fire. 

Mrs.  Gower  was  obstinately  silent,  going  home, 
while  Mr.  Wemyss  still  wondered.  They  dined  to- 
gether and  went  to  the  play ;  and  it  was  after  mid- 
night when  he  got  to  his  rooms. 

He  had  his  valet  pull  his  boots  off  and  bring  his 
smoking-jacket ;  and  then,  dismissing  him,  began  to 
cut  the  pages  of  the  last  French  novel. 

"  She  is  capable  of  anything,"  he  said  to  himself, 
before  he  had  read  the  first  page  of  his  book. 

"  She  is  a  devil,"  he  added,  under  his  breath,  some- 
what flattered,  somewhat  frightened  at  the  thought. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

JEM   STARBUCK  AMUSES   HIMSELF. 

IAMES  STARBUCKS  breach  with  his 

sister  had  been  a  permanent  one.  He 
probably  had  as  little  affection  in  his  nat- 
ure as  any  man  you  could  well  find ;  but 
what  he  had  was  centred  in  pretty  Jenny,  and  he  was 
both  grieved  and  annoyed  by  this.  He  said  to  him- 
self that  his  love  was  given  to  his  brethren,  and  his 
work  the  cause  of  labor ;  and  certainly  he  had  no  love 
for  his  master,  the  great  double  monopoly  of  a  cor- 
poration that  employed  him,  and  his  maker  he 
deemed  a  cleverly  contrived  bogy  of  the  rich.  Per- 
haps it  was  more  his  hate  of  these  than  even  love  of 
his  fellow-laborers  that  really  ruled  his  actions;  he 
recognized  no  difference  among  men  but  riches,  and 
put  on  these  the  burden  of  all  their  miseries. 

One  hot  morning  in  the  autumn  he  returned  from 
his  periodic  journey  over  the  Allegheny  Central  Rail- 
road. There  had  been  trouble  that  week  on  the  line 
of  the  road  ;  trouble  with  a  strike  among  the  coal 
miners,  and  Starbuck  had  had  much  ado  to  keep  their 
own  men  in  order.  It  was  a  Saturday,  and  his  work 
was  over  for  the  week.  James  was  never  idle  from 
preference ;  but  he  saw  no  work  to  which  he  could 


330  First  Harvests. 

turn  his  hand  that  day.  He  visited  the  bar-room  in 
the  lower  Bowery  which  formed  his  club,  and  found 
that  even  this  was  silent  and  deserted.  One  fellow 
only  he  met — a  silly,  drinking  workman  named  Simp- 
son— and  he  asked  him  to  go  to  the  races.  "  Every- 
body has  gone,"  said  Simpson,  "  and  I've  got  the  tip 
on  Ballet-girl."  And  James  remembered  that  all  the 
penny  papers  had  been  crammed  for  days  with  talk 
and  bets  and  naming  favorites  for  the  great  sweep- 
stakes. He  cared  little  for  such  things  himself,  and 
had  a  sort  of  contemptuous  wonder  at  the  interest  they 
aroused  among  his  acquaintance ;  but  after  some 
beer,  to  which  Simpson  insisted  on  treating  him,  they 
took  their  tickets  by  the  railway,  and  paid  their  dol- 
lars at  the  gate ;  dollars  which,  as  Starbuck  reflected, 
were  more  rare  to  Simpson  than  to  him. 

The  day  had  grown  intensely  hot ;  not  a  breath 
was  stirring  on  the  track,  and  the  air,  impregnated 
with  dust,  seemed  lifeless,  overbreathed.  But  the 
grand  stand  was  packed  with  humanity;  poor  people 
from  his  own  neighborhood,  dingy  men,  fat  mothers 
of  families,  gasping  for  breath,  young  men  with  their 
girls,  in  soiled  white  dresses  and  gay  ribbons,  many 
wearing  the  colors  of  their  favorite  jockey.  He  could 
see  that  they  were  all  intensely  eager  about  the  race  ; 
often  they  had  even  little  betting-books,  or  cards  upon 
which  they  marked  the  winners.  James  had  never 
been  at  a  race  before,  and  was  amazed  at  all  the 
crowd,  at  the  money  they  spent  for  this,  at  the  amount 
of  betting,  at  the  interest  they  showed  in  all  the 
horses.  Above  them,  in  the  private  boxes,  was  a 


Jem  Star  buck  Amuses  Himself.      331 

similar  crowd,  but  more  finely  dressed  ;  Starbuck  rec- 
ognized some  of  the  people  he  had  seen  driving  in  the 
Park;  for  he  was  fond  of  frequenting  such  places  and 
having  the  rich  men's  wives  pointed  out  to  him. 
There  even  was  his  employer,  Mr.  Tamms,  and  his 
wife  and  daughters  in  crisp  bright  dresses,  with  snowy 
throats  that  made  one  cool  to  look  at ;  and  there  in 
the  shade  was  Mrs.  Gower,  whom  he  also  knew  by 
sight.  They,  too,  seemed  to  be  betting;  but  with 
less  excitement  than  the  common  people  (as  he  called 
them,  to  himself)  below. 

"  Come  to  the  paddock,"  said  his  friend ;  and  they 
walked  out  there  and  saw  the  horses  unclothed  and 
the  trial  paces  of  the  jockeys.  "  Isn't  she  a  daisy?" 
said  Simpson,  pointing  to  a  slender  mare  as  Ballet- 
girl  ;  and  Starbuck  looked  at  her.  Just  then  her 
jockey  dropped  his  whip,  which  Simpson  obsequiously 
picked  up  and  handed  to  him.  If  this  numberless 
crowd  were  the  working  classes,  they  were  little  bet- 
ter than  "their  betters,"  said  Starbuck  to  himself, 
grimly. 

The  bell  rang  for  the  first  race ;  and  Simpson  hur- 
ried him  back  to  the  lawn.  A  false  start,  a  cloud  of 
dust,  and  they  were  off,  amid  the  wild  cries  of  the 
multitude.  He  watched  the  little  knot  of  gay  colors 
bobbing  around  the  track.  How  little  they  meant  to 
him,  and  how  much  to  all  the  throng  around  him ! 
Starbuck  turned  and  watched  the  mass  of  people  with 
all  the  cynicism  of  a  Caryl  Wemyss.  Close  by  him 
was  a  rather  pretty,  pale-faced  girl ;  she  was  evidently 
very  poor ;  a  black  jersey  was  all  she  wore  and  a 


332  First  Harvests. 

lilac-twigged  cotton  skirt ;  but  she  rose  to  her  feet, 
and  shouted  and  clapped  her  gloveless  hands. 

Between  the  races  nothing  would  do  but  they  must 
have  some  more  beer ;  and  they  went  behind  the 
grand  stand  where  the  pool-booths  were,  and  men, 
and  women  too,  were  drinking  it.  At  the  booths  was 
a  great  press  of  disreputable  men,  crying  hoarsely  and 
waving  rolls  of  dingy  bank-bills  at  the  gamblers. 
James  saw  that  his  friend  had  had  too  much  to  drink 
already  ;  and  he  insisted  on  putting  another  "  fiver  " 
on  his  favorite.  Above  them  in  the  stalls  James 
could  see  the  ladies  drinking  iced  champagne  and 
fanning  themselves  after  the  excitement  of  the  race. 
He  walked  out  upon  the  lawn  again,  where  the  well- 
dressed  gentlemen  were  also  making  up  their  books  ; 
and  went  along  to  the  sacred  place  reserved  for  pri- 
vate carriages.  Here  they  had  hampers  ;  and  young 
men  in  fawn-colored  coats  were  leaning  over  the 
shoulders  of  pretty  young  women,  having  flirtations 
with  them,  which  he,  perhaps,  interpreted  too  simply. 
"  Really,"  said  one  pretty  face's  owner,  "  this  is  more 
like  Longchamps  than  I  had  supposed  possible !  " 

"  We  are  improving,  Mrs.  Malgam,"  said  the  man. 
"New  York  will  no  longer  be  provincial,  one  of 
these  days.  And  it  is  getting  like  Longchamps  in 
more  respects  than  one,"  he  added.  "  Have  you  seen 
that  pretty  woman  just  ahead  of  us  with  the  cream- 
colored  ponies  ?  " 

"  Dear  me,  how  interesting !  "  cried  the  lady,  level- 
ling her  opera-glasses  in  the  direction  indicated  ;  and 
James  Starbuck  followed  her  look  with  his  eyes,  as 


ycm  Star  buck  Amuses  Himself.       333 

he  stood  beside  the  carriage.  "  It  seems  just  like  be- 
ing abroad  to  see  such  people !  She  is  handsome — 
and  she's  awfully  well  dressed,"  added  the  lady,  can- 
didly. "  I  never  can  get  my  woman  to  cut  a  dress  for 
me  like  that.  Who  is  she,  Mr.  Van  Kull  ?  " 

"  You  had  better  ask  Mr.  Townley,"  said  the  other. 

"  Ask  Lucie  Gower,  you  mean,"  said  a  gentleman 
who  had  not  yet  spoken. 

"  You  know  very  well  that  that  is  not  true  of  poor 
Lucie,"  answered  the  first ;  "  and  my  cousin  would 
not  thank  you." 

"  Well,  they  call  her  Mrs.  Beaumont,  that's  all  I 
know,"  said  the  other,  sulkily;  but  James  did  not 
hear  the  end  of  the  altercation,  for  he  pressed  forward 
among  the  drags  and  carriages  to  the  person  indi- 
cated. As  he  did  so,  one  of  her  cream-colored  ponies 
reared  and  turned,  and  was  about  to  crowd  him 
against  a  dog-cart  that  was  standing  next  in  the  row. 
Starbuck  grasped  the  bridle  and  gave  its  mouth  a 
savage  wrench.  "  So  it's  you,  is  it  ?  "  said  he,  facing 
his  sister.  "  Mrs.  Beaumont !  " 

Jenny  gave  a  half-suppressed  scream,  as  the  pony 
still  reared  and  plunged  ;  and  a  gentleman  who  was 
beside  her  grasped  the  reins.  "  Who  is  it  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Jenny,  looking  full  at  James. 
*•  Some  drunken  fellow,  I  suppose." 

Starbuck  started,  as  if  he  had  been  struck.  Then 
he  turned  away,  dropping  the  pony's  bridle.  He 
walked  back  to  the  lawn,  where  he  found  Simpson, 
much  the  worse  for  liquor.  The  great  race  had  been 
run,  while  Starbuck  was  not  looking ;  and  the  favorite 


334  First  Harvests. 

had  lost.  Simpson  was  quarrelsome  and  angry  ;  and 
ended  by  begging  James  for  the  loan  of  a  dollar, 
which  he  gave,  and  hurried  back  to  the  city.  As  he 
passed  up  Broadway,  he  looked  curiously  at  the 
bulletin-boards  before  the  newspaper-offices.  A  dense 
crowd  was  standing  about  each  one ;  but  Starbuck 
gathered  the  purport  of  the  news  from  such  messages 
as  were  passed  out  from  the  centre  of  the  crowd. 
The  strike  had  ended  in  a  riot.  He  stopped  at  his 
rooms  but  for  a  moment,  to  get  a  small  hand-bag ; 
then  he  took  a  cab  to  the  Jersey  City  ferry ;  here 
he  boarded  the  Pennsylvania  train. 

Starbuck  had  a  pass,  and  he  rode  in  the  parlor  car ; 
but  his  sleep  was  troubled,  and  his  dreams  seemed 
full  of  strange  noise  and  glare.  He  woke  up  once 
and  found  a  reason  for  the  latter ;  the  train  was  run- 
ning by  a  long  row  of  flaming  coke-furnaces,  which  lit 
the  whole  valley  with  a  sullen  red.  The  dawn  broke 
as  they  rolled  through  a  long  tunnel,  choking  with 
coal-gas,  and  came  to  Pittsburg.  The  forest  of  chim- 
neys stood  smokeless,  now  that  a  subtiler  agent  than 
the  coal  was  found,  and  the  ringing  of  bells  was  in  the 
Sunday  morning  air,  which  now  lay  clear  above  the 
city ;  and  the  steep  river  hills  were  visible,  and  the 
red  brick  town,  heaping  up  its  apex  in  the  bold  me- 
diaeval castle  that  is  its  modern  city  hall. 

James  had  little  cause  to  dally  here ;  but  noticed, 
in  the  hour  or  two  he  had  to  wait,  an  unusual,  un- 
quiet expression  on  the  faces  of  the  people,  who  were 
swarming  from  the  tenement  doors  into  the  street, 
like  ants  from  some  huge  ant-hill.  By  mid-day  he 


Jem  Starbuck  Amuses  Himself.       335 

found  a  freight  train  that  would  take  him  to  his  des- 
tination. His  journey  lay  up  a  river  valley,  its  slop- 
ing mountains  clothed  in  reds  and  yellows  of  autumn 
woodland.  For  many  miles  everything  was  silent 
with  a  Sunday  stillness ;  then  the  crests  of  the  hills 
were  lost,  and  the  blue  sky  shaded  into  yellowish 
brown,  at  the  touch  of  a  few  tall  iron  towers.  These 
were  pouring  forth  black  cinders,  as  they  had  for 
seven  years  past ;  for  the  iron  smelter  may  never  say, 
"  it  is  good,"  and  rest,  upon  the  seventh  day.  James 
watched  the  carload  of  ore  climbing  up  along  the 
outside  of  the  furnace,  until  the  great  tower's  top  was 
opened,  as  the  tons  of  ore  fell  in ;  then  the  prisoned 
flame  burst  forth  and  the  lower  surface  of  the  sulphur- 
ous brown  cloud  that  filled  the  valley  was  dyed  a 
vivid  crimson  with  the  pouring  flame. 

This  river  basin  had  been  lovely  once  ;  but  now  its 
soil  was  coal-dust,  and  the  soft  swelling  of  the  hill- 
sides, all  up  and  down  the  stream,  was  spotted  with 
huge  red  tanks,  of  rusting  brick-red  iron,  large  as 
ancient  forts,  the  storage  fountains  of  the  pipe-lines. 
And  the  whole  country  bristled  with  the  abandoned 
scaffoldings  of  old  oil-wells,  like  a  scanty  fur. 

James  talked  with  the  brakeman  and  found  that  his 
accustomed  engineer  was  disabled.  Bill,  he  said,  was 
a  non-union  man,  and  had  been  given  many  a  hint ; 
but  he  stuck  it  out  and  wouldn't  join,  and  so  the 
Union  had  deputed  Ned  O'Neal,  the  engineer  of  the 
local  freight  that  ran  just  ahead,  to  choose  the  steep- 
est down  grade  and  "  drop  upon  "  Bill's  time.  O'Neal 
had  "  dropped "  accordingly,  lagging  behind  under 


00' 


First  Harvests. 


pretext  that  his  engine  would  not  fire,  and  finally 
getting  his  long  train  of  fifty  coal-cars  just  at  the  bot- 
tom of  a  curving  trestle.  Bill  had  gone  into  him  and 
scattered  the  last  dozen  coal-cars,  doing  some  injury 
to  his  locomotive ;  but  his  head  was  badly  cut  open, 
and  his  brakeman  had  broken  his  neck.  Starbuck 
was  too  well  used  to  the  tyranny  of  laboring  men  to 
pay  much  attention  to  this  murder ;  and  he  asked 
about  the  riots.  Yes,  said  the  brakeman,  he  believed 
they  had  had  quite  a  time  at  Steam  City  for  several 
days  past.  A  few  men  had  been  hurt,  some  of  them 
Hungarians  at  the  mines  or  such-like.  But  they  had 
smashed  up  a  terrible  deal  of  rolling-stock. 

It  was  night  when  Starbuck  reached  Steam  City. 
The  streets  were  jammed  with  people,  but  the  town 
was  very  still.  Only,  just  in  front  of  the  station,  was 
a  piece  of  vacant  land  that  might  have  contained  two 
or  three  acres ;  this  was  closely  strewn  with  the 
wreck  of  cars,  machinery,  and  engines ;  nothing  but 
the  trucks,  wheels,  and  other  iron  work  remaining,  all 
twisted  in  a  wild  confusion  of  iron  arms  and  limbs. 

He  found  that  most  of  the  people  were  going  in 
but  one  direction,  so  he  followed  them.  It  was  a 
strange  country ;  the  soil  was  coal-dust,  the  very 
streams  were  still  with  oil,  and  through  every  crevice 
in  the  earth  poured  the  gas,  flaring  with  wild  fire 
that  flamed  there  night  and  day.  The  night  was  very 
dark  ;  and  at  every  street-corner  waved  these  torches, 
never  quenched,  belching  fire  from  the  iron  tubes 
stuck  anywhere,  carelessly,  into  the  ground.  A 
strange  country,  fitter  place  for  northern  runes  than 


Jem  Star  buck  Amuses  Himself.       337 

modern  men  ;  where  Loki  still  lurks  in  the  mountains 
and  the  smitten  rock  gives  forth  petroleum ;  and, 
where  the  spear  or  pickaxe  strikes  the  earth,  gush 
still  the  mythic  rills  of  fire. 

The  crowd  went  on,  to  a  wild  and  open  hillside 
above  the  town.  Here  perhaps  a  dozen  lengths  of 
pipe  were  flaring  with  the  natural  gas,  glowing  rud- 
dily  and  fitfully  upon  the  upturned  faces  of  some 
dozen  thousand  men  ;  and  at  the  highest  point,  below 
a  flaming  well  of  the  gas  that  had  been  but  lately 
and  rudely  piped  (for  the  volume  of  the  fire  still  shot 
up  straight  some  hundred  feet  or  so,  pillaring,  like  a 
groined  roof,  its  canopy  of  smoke),  was  a  sort  of  ros- 
trum. From  this  a  man  was  speaking ;  but  his  words 
were  hard  to  hear  above  the  roaring  of  the  burning 
well.  Starbuck  knew  the  man:  he  was  a  certain 
Moses  Jablonawski,  a  Polish  Jew. 

The  man  was  pale  and  narrow-chested,  with  a  red- 
dish beard ;  his  strongest  notes  varied  from  a  low  hiss 
to  a  sort  of  thin  shriek  ;  this  last  he  employed  in  cli- 
maxes, and  managed  barely  to  carry  his  words  across 
the  great  multitude.  But  Starbuck  knew  well  what 
he  was  saying;  he  preached  simple  anarchy,  nihilism, 
resistance  to  any  government  or  force,  destruction  of 
all  industrial  system,  annihilation  of  all  wealth  and 
works.  Starbuck  had  never,  even  in  his  secret  meet- 
ings, gone  wholly  with  the  man — (openly,  of  course, 
he  was  a  "boss"  and  on  the  side  of  the  employers) — for 
secretly  James  had  rather  a  greed  for  the  wealth  of 
others  than  a  desire  to  do  without  the  material  things 
of  civilization.  But  to-night  there  was  something  in 

22 


338  First  Harvests. 

the  cold,  logical,  merciless  reasoning  of  the  Pole  that 
went  with  his  mood.  Why  dally  with  the  pitch  at 
all  ?  Undoubtedly,  if  they  too  got  their  part  of  this 
corruption,  they  would  be  just  as  bad.  His  sister 
Jenny  spoke  to  him.  Destroy,  destroy,  was  the  burden 
of  the  orator's  speech  ;  then  ask  -what  new  thing  there 
shall  be,  when  all  is  gone.  And  if  it  be  but  suicide, 
society's  suicide,  better  that  than  humanity  in  misery. 
The  slave  must  break  his  cJiains  before  he  ploughs  and 
sows.  But  the  most  part  of  the  speech  was  a  clever 
rousing  of  the  passions,  among  his  audience,  of  hate 
and  envy.  He  brought  their  own  woe  home  to 
them ;  and  painted  brilliantly  the  pleasures  of  the 
idle  remnant.  And  always  came  the  refrain,  Kill, 
kill,  destroy,  resist  all  office  and  authority — till  man- 
kind be  as  the  beasts  of  the  forest  once  more,  law- 
less, unrestrained  ;  then  may  they  build  anew  and 
better,  freed  from  superstition  of  another  world, 
from  tainted  lessons  of  the  past  of  this,  from  silly 
lessons  of  a  priest's  self-sacrifice,  from  fashions  of 
a  feudal  aristocracy.  He  showed  them  that  their 
government  was  but  a  tyranny  more  formidable,  more 
insidious,  than  the  Czar's ;  that  their  rich  masters 
were  worse  than  kings ;  that  commercial  bourgeois 
(he  used  the  word)  were  more  blood-sucking  than 
military  dukes ;  and  common  schools  and  priests,  po- 
licemen, laws,  and  soldiers,  their  implements  of  self- 
ish wrong.  All  these  must  go ;  and  labor,  the  primal 
curse,  go  with  them  too. 

He  stopped ;  and  the   crowd  murmured ;  and  an- 
other man  got  up.     This  speaker  was  tall  and  muscular, 


Jem  Star  buck  Amuses  Himself.       339 

and  his  clear  voice  rang  deeply  to  the  farthest  corners 
of  the  crowd.  "  Some  of  you  know  me,"  he  said, 
"  some  of  you  have  heard  me  speak  before  ;  and  some 
Englishmen  among  you  have  heard  of  me  in  England. 
My  name  is  Lionel  Derwent."  There  was  a  shout  or 
two  at  this ;  but  most  of  the  crowd  remained  expectant. 

"  You  know  why  I  have  come ;  I  heard  that  there 
was  trouble  here  and  I  came  down  to  see  what  little 
thing  I  could  do  to  help  you.  You  must  know  me  as 
the  son  of  a  working-man  who  has  leisure,  and  who 
tries  to  see  the  truth  for  working-men.  You  know, 
too,  that  I  have  no  interest  against  you  ;  every  penny 
of  property  my  father  left  I  gave  to  the  working-men's 
schools  in  England  ;  and  I  support  myself  by  writing 
for  the  papers. 

"  Now  I  must  tell  you  that  the  man  who  spoke  to 
you  just  now  is  wrong;  and  he  is  not  only  wrong, 
but  he  means  to  be  wrong;  in  other  words,  he  lies. 
He  would  have  you  behave  like  a  child  who  has  just 
been  given  a  gold  watch,  and  smash  it  because  he  does 
not  know  how  to  use  it.  You  have  all  got  your  gold 
watches.  You  have  got  your  roads  and  your  mills 
and  your  schools  and  your  votes.  When  he  tells  you 
to  destroy  the  government,  he  tells  you  to  undo  what 
your  hands  have  created.  Bad  as  things  may  be,  they 
are  bad  because  you  voters  are  not  wise  enough ;  but 
he  would  destroy  all  wisdom,  do  away  with  schools 
and  votes,  and  then  the  first  big  general  would  be  a 
czar  over  you  again. 

"  I  say  you  are  not  wise  enough.  If  things  are 
wrong,  whose  fault  is  it  ?  It  is  you  who  make  them. 


34°  First  Harvests. 

Do  you  trust  to  the  best  men  ?  Do  you  try  to  see 
who  is  wise  and  what  is  excellent  ?  or  do  you  give  the 
power  to  him  whom  you  justly  hate — the  rich  monopo- 
list, the  selfish  trader,  who  says  he  is  a  coarse,  plain 
man  like  you,  and  then  buys  your  sovereignty  with 
the  sweat  of  your  own  brows  and  a  sop  of  the  very 
mess  of  pottage  you  have  sold  your  birthright  for  ? 

"  If  you  care  more  for  a  glass  of  beer  than  your  wel- 
fare, whose  fault  that  selfish  men  have  found  the  beer 
comes  cheaper  than  your  family's  comfort  in  their 
dividends  ? 

"  Your  foreign  friend — who  is  no  wise  leader  for 
American  workmen,  and  if  you  choose  him,  you  will 
choose  wrong — your  foreign  friend  has  told  you  to 
destroy.  Suppose  you  tore  up  these  railroads  and 
wrecked  these  mills  and  furnaces  and  flooded  all  the 
mines  and  burned  the  oil — you  know  what  farmers' 
wages  are ;  would  you  be  better  off  ?  And  if  you  all 
went  out  and  wanted  work  in  the  fields,  where  would 
the  wages  go  to  ?  You  say  you  would  not  want  wages, 
but  would  take  the  land  ;  very  good,  there  is  the  land 
now  :  will  any  of  you  like  to  change  your  work  and 
earnings  for  a  freehold  farmer's  life  ?  '  No,  we  want 
the  mills  and  railroads,  but  we  do  not  want  the  rich/ 
you  say.  And  if  we  wiped  away  the  rich,  who  would 
build  your  railroads  ?  Can  you  do  it  alone,  and  feed 
and  pay  yourselves  ?  But  if  the  rich  must  do  it,  what 
shall  be  their  reward  ?  They  give  you  money — what 
will  you  pay  them  in  ?  Money,  or  money's  worth, 
and  human  bodies,  are  the  only  values  that  the  world 
has  ever  known.  Will  you  pay  them  in  your  bodies, 


Jem  Starbnck  Amuses  Himself.      341 

in  your  slavery  ?  If  no,  why,  then,  object  that  they 
have  money  ? 

"  Because  they  have  more  than  we,  you  say.  Well, 
that  may  be  mended.  But  if  people  are  to  use  money 
to  help  you  build  your  railroads,  they  must  have  the 
money  to  start  with. 

"  Because  they  have  more  money  than  we  have,  you 
say  again.  And  now  be  honest.  Will  you  promise 
me  one  thing  :  that  you  will  try  not  to  think  the  world 
all  wrong  until  it  has  no  justice  ?  They  say  there  is 
no  justice  in  the  country  of  our  friend  here,  and  that 
is  why  he  had  to  fly  to  us.  If  you  can  say  there  is  no 
justice  here  ;  when  you  can  honestly  say,  '  I  have  not 
got  what  I  deserve ' — then  we  will  take  it,  though  we 
wade  through  seas  of  blood,  and  I  go  with  you.  But 
tell  me  honestly,  now — do  you  think  you  want  money 
so  much  as  some  of  the  rich  ?  Do  you  think  it  so 
needful  to  you  ?  Do  you  think,  each  one  of  you, 
your  know-how  is  so  valuable  ?  Do  you  think  to- 
day, if  you  had  a  million  apiece,  you  would  use  the 
money  on  the  whole  so  well  ?  You  all  know  Coat- 
Oil  Patsy — he  got  five  millions,  and  he  kept  a  bad 
circus,  and  a  bad  hotel,  and  a  bad  base-ball  nine,  and 
bad  women,  and  took  to  drinking  himself  blind,  and 
bribed  himself  a  seat  in  Congress,  and  killed  his  wife 
or  broke  her  heart,  and  at  last  he  lost  his  money,  and 
now  he  gets  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  a  day,  when  he  is 
sober  enough — and  he  is  worth  no  more — and  what 
cent  of  his  money  ever  did  you  any  good  ?  It  is  now 
all  gone,  and  he  built  no  single  furnace,  nor  mill,  nor 
railroad,  nor  worked  a  mine,  nor  gave  any  one  of  you 


First  Harvests. 


a  day's  work  while  his  money  lasted.  And  one  thing 
more  :  do  you  think  you  are  better,  or  as  fit  to  spend 
this  money  that  your  railroad  or  your  coal  mine  makes 
—  I  do  not  mean,  whether  you  may  be  so  in  a  short 
time  —  but  fairly  now,  as  you  stand,  to-day,  are  you 
kinder,  wiser,  nobler  ;  have  you  higher  tastes,  more 
learning,  better  knowledge  of  all  the  things  that  take 
money  to  buy  ?  For  remember,  beer  and  beef  and 
clothes  and  tobacco  and  rum  are  cheap  enough  —  you 
know  you  get  all  of  them  you  need  to-day  —  it  is  fine 
learning,  and  clean  manners,  and  great  pictures,  and 
new  sciences,  and  poets,  and  high  music,  that  come 
expensive.  Even  are  you  quite  as  good  ?  Are  your 
boys  quite  as  well-bred  and  sober  and  respectful,  and 
your  little  girls  quite  as  generous  and  gentle  ?  I  do  not 
say  that  all  these  things  are  so  for  ever  —  that  you  may 
not  all  become  so  —  and  believe  me,  the  first  young 
man  or  woman  that  comes  along  and  says,  '  Look  here, 
I  am  fit  to  be  a  gentleman,'  and  the  world  does  not 
admit  him  such  ;  the  first  old  man  who  has  knowledge 
to  make  and  spend  money,  and  has  not  got  it  —  and  I 
will  let  him  say,  like  our  friend  here,  'Away  with 
learning  and  effort  and  order  and  wisdom  and  their 
universal  works,  and  let  us  burn  and  kill  !  for  behold, 
I  have  not  my  deserts.'  " 

The  great  mass  of  men  had  begun  to  hear  Derwent 
speak  with  some  attention  ;  but  the  crowd  thinned 
rapidly.  Probably  the  greater  part  of  it  did  not  un- 
derstand English  at  all  ;  and  toward  the  end  several 
Huns  and  Poles  collected  little  groups  about  them  and 
began  themselves  to  speak  in  the  corners.  But  as  the 


Jem  Star  buck  Amuses  Himself.       343 

Englishman  closed,  James  Starbuck  took  the  place ; 
he  was  known  to  be  one  of  the  masters  in  sympathy 
with  them,  and  the  multitude  pressed  eagerly  back. 

Starbuck  looked  slowly  around  the  great  multitude  ; 
and  you  might  have  heard  the  murmur  of  a  child,  so 
silent  was  their  expectation.  Then  he  began ;  and 
his  words  dropped  hissing,  one  by  one,  like  drops  of 
molten  iron  falling  into  water. 

"  What  has  this  fine  gentleman  to  do  down  here, 
with  us  rough  workmen  ?  "  he  began.  "  Do  you  think 
he  would  let  one  of  you  marry  his  sister  ?  "  Starbuck 
uttered  each  word  staccato,  by  itself,  thinking  of  his 
sister  Jenny;  and  his  frame  seemed  to  quiver  with 
malice ;  and  he  paused  again,  as  if  to  recover  his  con- 
trol. "  I  saw  him  riding  many  times  last  winter,  in  a 
carriage  with  footmen,  with  .servants  in  livery,  and  a 
lady  wearing  diamonds,  whose  dress  would  buy  a  house 
for  you  and  me.  She  is  a  fashionable  belle,  in  the 
newspapers,  and  they  say  she  is  no  better  than  she 
should  be ;  but  she  would  not  touch  our  wives  and 
daughters  with  the  glove  upon  her  hand. 

"  This  aristocrat  may  have  lost  his  money — as  many 
of  them  do,  by  gambling,  as  well  as  poor  old  Coal-Oil 
Patsy — and  he  may  have  other  ways  of  getting  it,  for 
all  I  know.  Perhaps  he  was  paid  for  his  speech  to- 
night. But  are  you  such  flats  as  to  think  he  really 
cares  for  the  likes  of  us  ?  "  The  crowd  already  had 
begun  to  murmur  angrily. 

"  The  rich  are  better  than  we,  he  has  the  cheek  to 
tell  you.  Yes,  their  dresses  are  better,  and  their  food 
is  finer,  and  they  have  learned  how  to  lie  and  swindle 


344  First  Harvests. 

with  a  soft  tongue.  They  drink  champagne  instead  of 
beer,  and  bet  bigger  money  on  their  horses,  and  smoke 
cigars,  and  take  their  girls  to  ride  in  fine  turnouts 
with  a  span  of  horses ;  but  they  don't  mean  honestly 
by  their  girls,  and  they  turn  them  out  upon  the  streets 
at  last.  And  they  don't  have  to  work  in  the  dirt,  and 
they  can  take  a  hot  bath  every  day,  and  their  wives 
and  daughters  can  keep  their  bodies  clean  and  their 
faces  fair,  and  so  they  go  to  the  theatre  and  show 
themselves  in  dresses  you'd  be  ashamed  to  see  your 
wife  in. 

"  But  in  all  the  rest,  he's  gassin'  you.  I  think  my 
girls  could  wear  their  diamonds  as  well  as  them,  and 
flirt  and  show  their  dresses ;  and  I  could  drive  my 
span,  and  take  my  fancy  drinks,  and  bribe  the  judges 
and  the  lawyers.  Do  you  suppose  if  they  couldn't 
steal  from  us,  they  could  earn  even  so  much  as  Coal- 
Oil  Patsy?  And  as  for  books  and  pictures,  they 
leave  all  that  to  the  long-haired  fellers  at  the  col- 
leges ;  they  don't  care  a  damn  for  art  an' all  that  stuff 
any  more'n  we  do. 

"  Do  you  suppose  if  any  boy  o'  yourn  studied  to  be 
a  gentleman,  and  was  as  good,  and  as  clever,  and  as 
gifted  with  the  gab  as  our  fine  friend  here,  and  went 
to  him,  he'd  take  him  to  his  clubs  and  balls  and 
parties?  He'd  say,  'Your  hands  are  coarse  and 
rough,  and  you  don't  talk  enough  like  a  dude ' — and 
what  he'd  really  mean  all  the  time  would  be,  '  You 
ain't  got  money  enough.'  I  tell  you  all  this  talk  is 
guff,  and  it  just  comes  down  to  the  money.  All  we 
want  is  money,  and  they've  got  it. 


Jem  Star  buck  Amuses  Himself.       345 

"  Then  he  says  we  aren't  smart  enough.  Of  course 
we  aren't  smart  enough.  This  world  has  been  run  for 
the  smart  fellers  about  long  enough,  and  it's  about 
time  it  was  run  for  the  honest  men.  It's  the  rich  fel- 
lers on  top  that  are  the  smart  ones,  and  we  are  the 
fools  who  let  'em  make  all  the  money.  It's  they  who 
are  the  judges  and  make  the  laws  and  run  the  legisla- 
tures, and  then  they  have  the  cheek  to  come  to  us 
and  say,  '  Oh,  lord,  don't  break  the  law  ! '  And  they 
bring  you  men  over  by  the  shipload,  and  give  you 
seventy  cents  a  day,  and  rent  one  room  of  their 
houses  to  your  families  at  their  own  price,  and  herd 
your  girls  and  boys  together  naked  in  the  coal-mines, 
and  then  say,  '  See  how  much  cleaner  we  are  !  how 
much  more  virtuous  we  are  ! '  And  if  you  strike,  you 
starve,  and  they  know  it ;  and  if  in  your  despair  you 
give  a  kick  or  two  to  their  damned  machinery,  they 
cry  like  cowards  as  they  are,  '  Oh,  lord,  that's  my 
property — don't  break  the  law ! '  And  the  law  is 
theirs,  too,  not  ours,  nor  God  Almighty's  whom  they 
talk  so  much  about. 

"  I  tell  you,  friends,  you  can  never  touch  these  peo- 
ple but  through  their  pockets.  The  law's  a  fraud,  and 
when  they  don't  find  it  suit,  they  laugh  at  it.  And 
they  don't  care  a  damn  for  you  or  your  wives  or  chil- 
dren or  your  souls  or  your  bodies  or  the  lives  of  your 
boys  or  the  virtue  of  your  daughters — but  only  for 
what  they  can  make  out  of  you.  And  they  talk 
about  the  freedom  of  the  country,  and  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence,  and  ballots  and  that ;  and  all 
the  time  they  ape  their  swell  English  friends  and 


346  First  Harvests. 

marry  their  girls  off  to  rotten  foreign  princes  and 
would  have  a  king  here  if  they  could — except  that  it's 
easier  to  throw  the  dust  in  our  eyes  under  what  they 
call  a  republic. 

"  And  now  I  say,  don't  you  care  a  damn  for  their 
laws,  either.  And  if  they  hire  their  Pinkerton  spies 
who  are  paid  to  shoot  you  down,  you  shoot  them  too. 
They  won't  care  much  for  that ;  but  then  when  you 
burn  a  big  works,  and  blow  up  a  mine  or  two,  they'll 
see  their  money  going  and  squeal  fast  enough.  That's 
all  I've  got  to  say." 

Denvent  had  listened  to  his  speech  intently,  none 
the  less  so  that  threatening  glances  were  cast  at  him 
from  time  to  time.  As  he  finished,  a  score  or  more 
of  orators  leaped  to  the  platform  ;  and  many  of  them 
began  to  speak  at  once.  Starbuck,  having  done  his 
work,  disappeared  ;  the  crowd  was  beginning  to  thin  ; 
the  speakers  spoke  in  Polish,  Bohemian,  Hungarian, 
Sicilian,  each  in  the  dialect  of  his  own  audience. 
Many  were  waving  their  hands  violently  and  making 
threatening  gestures  in  the  direction  of  the  city, 
which  lurked,  black  and  sullen,  below  them  in  the 
valley,  shrouded  in  the  thick  smoke  itself  had  made, 
bright-pointed  here  and  there  with  many  torches ; 
and  now  and  again  from  the  bowels  of  the  thing 
would  burst  a  blaze  of  white-hot  metal,  like  the  open- 
ing of  the  monster's  fiery  eye,  ending  in  a  wide  red 
glare  and  a  hissing  shower  of  sparks;  and  all  was 
dark  again. 

Hardly  any  men  of  the  English  race  were  by  this 
time  left  upon  the  ground.  Denvent  noticed  it,  as  he 


Jem  Star  buck  Amuses  Himself.       347 

stood  watching,  in  one  corner  of  the  throng ;  and 
thought  how  un-American  a  scene  it  was.  At  last 
the  anarchist  who  had  first  begun  stood  up  again,  as 
if  to  close  the  meeting.  This  time  his  voice  seemed 
stronger  or  more  sibilant ;  his  speech  was  but  a  string 
of  curses,  of  tales  of  crime,  full  of  a  savage's  lust  of 
ruin.  Let  it  end  !  Let  them  suffer,  too  ;  let  them  die, 
as  we  have  died.  If  they  mean  to  starve  us  now,  let 
these  mills  and  machines,  these  tools  of  wrong,  these 
mines,  these  gaols  of  wretchedness,  let  them  all  burn  or 
blast — what  care  we — we  who  are  to  be  burned  or 
hanged  ourselves?  Let  their  towns  be  gutted,  and 
their  homes  be  razed  and  their  factories  be  bunted — 
aye,  let  them  burn,  burn,  burn,  as  this  shall  burn, 
from  now  on,  day  and  night,  winter  and  summer,  for 
all  time  ! 

And  as  the  orator  closed,  with  a  group  of  men  he 
threw  himself  upon  the  structure  of  the  piping  of  the 
flaming  well.  The  wooden  tower  swayed  and  rocked 
and  fell ;  and  with  a  roar  like  the  ocean  the  gas,  freed 
from  its  casing,  flooded  the  sky  with  its  flare  of  fire. 
A  great  mass  of  pebbles  and  timbers  rose  with  the 
first  outburst,  and  fell  flaming  on  the  shouting  crowd 
below  ;  then,  igniting  close  to  the  earth,  and  even  be- 
low its  surface,  running  rapidly  around  the  rock,  leap- 
ing and  tossing  in  liquid  tongues,  the  red  rills  seemed 
to  spring  from  every  crevice  in  the  earth,  until  the 
place  that  had  been  the  rostrum  was  sunken  in  a  lake 
of  flame. 

The  Pole  had  kept  his  arm  extended,  as  one  who 
invokes  a  spell,  until  the  shock  of  the  explosion  had 


348  First  Harvests. 

gone  by,  and  all  the  flaming  timbers  fell ;  then,  when 
the  fire  was  steady,  reddening  the  valley  even  to  the 
distant  mountain-tops,  he  swept  his  arm  in  a  gesture 
not  without  some  dignity  toward  the  silent  city.  With 
a  hoarse  cry  the  multitude  seemed  to  take  his  mean- 
ing; and  the  sea  of  swarthy  faces,  red-sashed  men  and 
olive-cheeked  women,  with  their  motley  dresses,  and 
their  odd  diversity  of  foreign  cries,  swept  downward 
to  the  city's  rolling  mills. 

Of  all  the  crowd  who  spoke  that  night  not  one 
American  except  James  Starbuck ;  of  all  the  thoughts 
in  those  ten  thousand  heads,  scarce  one  the  fathers  of 
the  republic  could  have  owned  with  honor ;  of  all 
these  men  indeed,  not  one  who  understood  the  prin- 
ciples which  gave  his  country  birth. — Derwent  was  re- 
flecting. Where  were  the  true  Americans  ?  Where 
were  the  descendants  of  the  colonies,  and  Virginia 
and  Old  New  England  ?  What  had  been  Starbuck's 
training,  that  he  talked  like  that  ? 

But,  you  will  remember,  it  was  long  since  Jem 
Starbuck  had  left  that  old  New  England  village,  dy- 
ing out  amidst  its  sturdy  hills ;  and  his  old  uncle 
Samuel  Wolcott  had  hanged  himself,  a  long  year 
since,  to  the  rafter  from  the  barn  in  his  hillside  home- 
stead. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

ARTHUR    HAS   A   LITTLE   DINNER. 

jRTHUR  was  thinking  of  getting  up  a  little 
dinner  for  some  of  his  most  worthy  friends 
and  most  valuable  acquaintances,  and  he 
was  sitting  in  the  reading  room  of  his 
favorite  club,  trying  to  make  up  his  list.  There  was 
a  reception  at  the  Livingstones  that  afternoon,  and  he 
proposed  going ;  but  this  deuce  of  a  list  took  much 
more  time  than  one  would  suppose  possible.  He 
threw  impatiently  into  the  waste-paper  basket  the 
third  tentative  sketch  which  had  proved  impossible, 
and  looked  at  his  watch.  The  cards  said  half-past 
three — "  to  meet  Miss  Holyoke  " — it  was  indeed  the 
first  time  Gracie  was  to  appear  out  of  her  deep 
mourning. 

Arthur  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  after  three  al- 
ready. He  had  thought  of  going  early,  before  the 
people  came  ;  however,  he  would  make  one  attempt 
more,  and  meantime  ring  and  order  the  cab. 

John  Haviland — he  must  come  of  course — he  was 
the  man  he  really  esteemed  most,  of  all  the  men  he 
knew.  But  Birmingham  did  not  like  Haviland — and 
Arthur  could  not  possibly  do  without  the  earl — well, 
so  much  the  worse  for  his  lordship;  they  could  be 
put  at  opposite  ends  of  the  table.  So  Haviland  went 


350  First  Harvests. 

in.  Then  there  was  Van  Kull  and  Charlie  Townley  ; 
there  had  been  some  trouble,  about  a  woman,  be- 
tween these  two  men,  and  they  were  not  upon  the 
best  of  terms.  But  then  Arthur  particularly  wanted 
Van  Kull ;  his  presence  at  a  stag-party  was  sure  to 
give  it  just  the  cachet  that  it  needed,  and  Charlie  was 
by  no  means  so  popular,  among  the  men.  After  all, 
he  could  not  be  forever  deferring  to  his  friends ;  he 
would  tell  Charlie  who  was  coming,  and  if  he  didn't 
like  it,  he  could  stay  away.  Besides,  the  dinner  was 
but  an  impromptu  affair,  gotten  up  for  that  very 
evening ;  at  least,  the  invitations  were  to  be  sent  out 
then,  though  Arthur  had  schemed  about  it  for  seve- 
ral days ;  and  they  might  not  half  of  them  be  disen- 
gaged. He  had  spoken  to  Birmingham  already;  and 
he  had  promised  to  come.  Caryl  Wemyss — there 
was  another  man.  Him,  at  least,  he  would  cut;  for 
he  disliked  him  thoroughly.  But,  after  all,  Wemyss 
was  a  great  card  ;  he  affected  to  look  down  on  young 
men,  and  it  would  be  quite  a  social  triumph  for  him 
to  get  him.  (It  is  difficult  perhaps  for  us,  who  have 
seen  this  celebrated  personage  from  the  inside,  to  real- 
ize what  a  figure-head  he  had  made  himself  in  that 
portion  of  American  society  which  has  aspirations  be- 
yond the  ocean.)  Yet  it  would  give  him  the  keenest 
pleasure  to  leave  this  man  out  for  once,  more  so  than 
to  put  in  all  the  others ;  for  he  knew  that  Wemyss 
would  like  to  go.  Which  was  the  greatest  pleasure — 
ambition  or  revenge  ? 

A  servant  came  up  just  here,  and   whispered  that 
Mr.  Holyoke's  cab  was  ready.     "  Tell  him  to  wait," 


Arthur  Has  a  Little  Dinner.        351 

said  Arthur,  impatiently;  and  he  admitted  Mr.  We- 
myss,  with  a  sigh,  to  his  list.  Who  next  ?  There 
was  Lucie  Gower,  of  course ;  every  one  liked  Lucie ; 
and  Arthur  wrote  the  name,  this  time  with  a  sigh  of 
relief.  Then  there  was  Lionel  Derwent.  He  himself 
liked  him  very  much. — But  confound  it,  no  ;  Van 
Kull  and  Birmingham  would  leave  the  room  if  that 
self-assertive,  carelessly-dressed  radical  were  of  the 
party.  Who  else  was  there  ?  Mr.  Tamms  ?  Arthur 
was  anxious  enough  to  get  on  in  his  business,  and 
had  even  thought  of  his  angular  employer  at  first. 
But  it  really  would  not  do;  that  was  a  trifle  too 
much  of  the  shop;  he  could  ask  him  alone  some  time, 
to  Coney  Island.  The  list  would  do  as  it  was :  the 
earl,  Wemyss,  Van  Kull,  Gower,  Townley  and  Havi- 
land. 

He  looked  at  his  watch  again ;  it  was  after  four, 
and  little  Gussie  Mortimer,  that  dried-up  old  beau, 
would  be  sure  to  be  there  by  this  time  ;  he  always 
went  first,  to  get  his  fine  work  in  with  the  very  young- 
est girls,  while  the  coast  was  clear.  There  was  no 
use  seeing  Gracie  with  Gussie  Mortimer.  He  might 
as  well  write  the  notes  and  get  them  off  ;  some  of  the 
men  he  could  see  at  the  Livingstones,  and  Birming- 
ham he  was  sure  of,  as  that  gentleman  had  lately 
been  accepting  his  hospitality  at  the  Hill-and-Dale 
Club,  and  he  had  asked  him  yesterday. 

But  Jimmy  De  Witt  came  in  just  then,  and  began 
to  talk ;  it  was  nice  to  be  clapped  on  the  shoulder  by 
him,  for  he  was  very  rich,  in  the  right  of  his  wife,  and 
given  to  entertaining.  An  enviable  fellow,  popular, 


352  First  Harvests. 

a  great  athlete,  with  a  rich  and  pretty  wife,  who  did 
not  look  much  to  his  comings  in  and  goings  out,  hav- 
ing far  too  good  a  time  herself  for  that.  It  will  be 
seen  that  Arthur's  ideas  had  changed  a  little  from  his 
poetry  days ;  but  what  would  you  have  ?  He  had 
been  studying  les  moyens  de  parvenir  since  then. 
New  York  life  is  not  a  lyric,  nor  yet  an  epic,  or  we 
had  not  called  this  book  a  satire.  Before  he  knew  it, 
Arthur  had  asked  him  to  dinner  also,  and  Tony 
Duval ;  and  then  remembered  that  the  latter  always 
cut  John  Haviland.  But  everything  seemed  to  go 
wrong  that  afternoon  ;  the  very  de'il  was  in  it.  Der- 
went  came  in  too,  and  asked  him  if  he  was  not  going 
to  the  Livingstones.  Arthur  answered  irritably  ;  and 
felt  glad  he  had  not  invited  him.  He  should  go,  he 
said,  if  he  got  time.  So,  that  we  may  not  miss  the 
kettledrum  ourselves,  perhaps  we  had  better  accom- 
pany Derwent. 

For  Gracie  has  long  been  wondering  why  Arthur 
has  not  come ;  she  has  looked  forward  to  her  "  com- 
ing out "  chiefly  that  she  might  see  our  hero  every 
day  once  more.  Derwent  goes  to  her  at  once.  "  I 
have  just  left  a  friend  of  yours  lamenting  that  he 
cannot  get  here  sooner,"  says  he.  "  Holyoke  was 
positively  savage  that  he  was  kept  so  long  down 
town."  It  was  a  white  lie,  I  know  ;  yet  few  men 
would  have  been  at  the  pains  to  tell  it.  And  Gracie 
smiles  once  more;  and  the  burly,  blond-bearded  man 
stays  by  her,  like  some  comforting,  protecting  power. 
But  he  seems  destined  to  annoy  his  friends  that  after- 
noon ;  for  Charlie  Townley  finds  him  near  by,  too, 


Arthur  Has  a  Little  Dinner.        353 

and  with  quite  other  feelings.  Charlie  was  there 
early  enough,  you  may  be  sure;  and  he  is  sitting  with 
pretty  Mamie  Livingstone  on  a  sofa  just  behind  them. 
And  Birmingham,  I  fear,  is  cursing  Derwent  too ; 
such  a  knack  have  fanatics  of  making  themselves  dis- 
agreeable !  For  every  time  he  makes  a  pretty  com- 
pliment to  Miss  Farnum — and  pretty  compliments 
are  slow  and  heavy  things  for  our  peer  of  the  realm  to 
struggle  with — it  seems  as  if  his  beautiful  companion 
caught  Derwent's  eye.  And  the  beauty  is,  even  to 
the  Briton's  eye,  a  bit  unconscious  of  his  fine  speeches; 
and  looks  about  her  as  if  she  too  were  looking  for 
some  other  swain.  Only  Mrs.  Gower  and  Wemyss 
seem  to  have  escaped  ;  but  they  are  sitting  by  a  cer- 
tain screen  in  the  tea-room  and  fancy  themselves  un- 
seen ;  so  they  are,  indeed,  save  by  the  eyes  of  some 
old  dowagers — the  same  who  had  called  upon  her  the 
day  of  the  drive — barbed  by  a  touch  of  malice  to  a 
keener  sight  than  even  "  that  damned  adventurer's," 
as  Birmingham  calls  him.  But  Pussie  De  Witt  is 
there,  in  a  gorgeous  dress  her  novel  matronhood  per- 
mits her,  perfectly  happy  yet ;  and  Kill  Van  Kull,  her 
partner,  manages  to  get  his  amusement  out  of  all  the 
world  and  everywheres. 

Then  Derwent  takes  his  seat  by  Mamie,  calmly 
turning  Charlie's  flank.  So  the  Wall  Street  knight 
has  to  retreat ;  and  Derwent  flirts  most  desperately, 
so  that  her  little  head — heart — what  shall  I  say  ?  is 
tickled.  And  it  is  very  late  when  Arthur  comes,  and 
he  finds  that  Gracie  has  gone  up-stairs  with  a  head- 
ache ;  so  that  he  is  angrier  than  ever. 
23 


354  First  Harvests. 

But  the  dinner  that  night  is  a  great  success.  Every- 
body came — except  Van  Kull,  which  is,  indeed,  a  little 
of  a  disappointment — and  the  wines  and  cooking  are 
most  excellent.  A  great  success,  that  is,  until  Wem- 
yss,  most  unfortunately,  began  to  talk  of  American 
families.  Some  one  said  something  about  Kitty  Far- 
num,  and  what  a  fine  woman  she  was,  and  what  a  pity 
it  was  that  her  people  was  so  ordinary.  "  Pooh ! " 
says  his  lordship,  "  all  your  Yankee  families  are  just 
alike." 

"  Without  impugning  Birmingham's  knowledge  of 
American  families,"  says  Wemyss,  thinking  of  his  own, 
"  I  think  I  may  submit  that  there  are  differences. 
Take  Mrs.  Grower,  for  instance,  Mrs.  Levison-Gower, 
I  mean — I  think  that  is  a  family  name  not  unknown 
in  England,  and  blood  shows  itself  in  every  line  of 
her  face,  and,  in  every  motion  of  her  figure,  breeding." 
Wemyss  never  forgets  his  polished  periods,  even  in 
the  heat  of  argument.  "  Or  take,"  he  goes  on,  "  Miss 
Holyoke,  whom  we  saw  to-day,  she  is  perhaps  even  a 
better  example  of  what  I  mean.  She  has  not  perhaps 
much  style;  she  is  countrified,  if  you  like — but  she 
comes  of  the  best  old  Massachusetts  stock,  and  I  sub- 
mit there  is  no  older  blood  in  the  England  of  to-day 
than  hers." 

"  Oh,  come,  now,  I  say,"  says  his  lordship,  "  you 
don't  mean  to  set  up  that  little  filly  against  us  ? 
That's  the  sort  of  thing  our  governesses  are  in  Eng- 
land." 

It  is  a  little  hard  for  Arthur  to  sit  by  and  hear  this  ; 
but  he  remembers  that  Birmingham  is  the  guest  of 


Arthur  Has  a  Little  Dinner.        355 

the  evening  and  keeps  silent.  But  Haviland  takes  it 
up.  "  If  that  is  true,  Lord  Birmingham,  I  congratu- 
late you  upon  your  governess's  breeding  ;  and  am  only 
sorry  that  its  lessons  are  so  soon  forgotten." 

"  I  think,  sir ;  you  should  remember  the  lady  is  a 
cousin  of  our  host,"  adds  Lucie  Gower,  pluckily. 

"  Damn  it,  man,"  cries  Birmingham,  "  we  all  think 
so  in  England.  Do  you  suppose  the  prince  cares  a 
curse  for  your  shop-keeping  distinctions  ?  As  much 
as  I  do  for  Jess  the  farrier's  daughter  and  Nell  the 
draper's  wife  in  my  county  town.  He  only  takes  up 
one  Yankee  woman  after  another  because  they're 
easier  than  the  women  that  he's  used  to.  That's  why 
your  Buffalo  Bills  get  to  the  Queen's  levees  as  well 
as  your  poker  Schencks — we  might  as  well  marry  a 
Chicago  pork  man's  pretty  daughter  as  any  Yankee 
Boston  professor's — if  she's  got  the  money  and  the 
looks." 

"  And  damn  it,  sir,"  cries  little  Lucie  Gower,  "  I 
tell  you  that  if  you  had  spoken  but  just  now  of  my 
wife  as  you  did  of  poor  Miss  Holyoke,  I'd  have  shied 
this  bottle  at  your  head." 

Gower  looks  fierce,  as  he  stands  up,  grasping  his 
decanter ;  and  Charlie  Townley  interposes  to  pour  oil 
on  troubled  waters.  "  Sit  down,  Lucie,"  says  he, 
"  I've  no  doubt  all  our  ancestors  were  no  better  than 
they  should  be;  Lord  Birmingham's  own  included." 
With  which  American  reflection,  and  something  in 
the  ludicrousness  of  Gower's  gentle  nickname,  the  al- 
tercation passes  for  the  time.  Birmingham,  being  a 
bit  of  a  coward,  is  brought  to  apologize  ;  "  and  per- 


356  First  Harvests. 

haps,"  adds  Charlie,  "  Lord  B.  has  just  been  touched 
upon  a  tender  point."  All  laugh  at  this,  save  Birm- 
ingham, who  blushes  red  and  angrily.  But  John  has 
said  nothing,  and  is  twirling  his  mustache  grimly. 

Meantime  the  wine  circulates  again ;  and  the  earl, 
who  has  already  taken  too  much,  takes  a  little  more. 

And  every  man  has  had  some  little  irritation  on 
that  unfortunate  day ;  poor  Arthur,  who  expected  so 
much  from  his  little  dinner !  For  Arthur  has  been 
thinking  now  of  Gracie,  and  there  is  some  uneasy 
feeling  on  his  mind  he  does  not  seek  to  analyze. 
Though,  indeed,  it  was  by  her  wish  that  they  had 
never  been  engaged. 

No  small  talk  seems  to  be  quite  ready ;  and  Birm- 
ingham goes  on.  "  Of  course,  it's  all  very  well  for 
you  fellows  to  talk,"  says  he,  as  if  he  meant  to  be 
amicable,  "and  I'm  sorry  that  I  said  what  I  did.  But 
you  must  all  know  well  enough  that  it's  ridiculous 
for  Americans  to  talk  of  family.  Why,  the  country 
was  settled  by  the  very  scum  and  refuse  of  Old  Eng- 
land ;  and  all  your  ancestors  were  either  thieves,  or 
slaves,  or  prostitutes  and  domestic  servants  shipped 
out  here  by  the  carload " 

He  stammers  a  moment;  for  John  Haviland,  eying 
him  calmly,  as  one  might  eye  some  servant  seeking 
for  a  place,  rises,  folds  his  napkin  with  great  delibera- 
tion, and  stalks  out  of  the  room.  Gower  follows 
him,  assuring  the  Englishman  first,  with  great  particu- 
larity, that  "  he  is  a  confounded  blackguard  and  knows 
where  he  may  find  him/'  With  which  grandiloquent 
speech,  a  little  out  of  date  perhaps,  the  other  five  are 


Arthur  Has  a  Little  Dinner.        357 

left  to  continue  their  instructive  conversation.  Arthur 
is  a  little  pale,  but  Charlie  Townley,  when  they  have 
fairly  left  the  room,  breaks  into  a  roar  of  laughter, 
and  Tony  Duval  seems  to  think  it  all  good  fun ;  his 
grandfather,  a  French  barber,  had  married  a  Paris 
grisette,  and  both  had  come  to  America  to  make  their 
fortunes. 

"  That's  like  'em  all,''  says  the  bellicose  Briton, 
"  they  court  our  company,  just  like  the  snobs  at  home, 
and  then  are  vexed  if  we  don't  treat  them  as  our 
equals.  And  all  the  fuss  about  a  Kitty  Farnum !  I 
mean  to  take  her  back  with  me,  but  damme  if  I've 
yet  decided  to  marry  her  first !  " 

"  You  will  oblige  me  first  by  taking  your  name  off 
this  club;  or  as  I  put  you  down,  I'll  save  you  the 
trouble  by  doing  that  myself.  Perhaps  I  had  better 
pay  your  bill  for  you  too,  lest  you  should  forget  it,  as 
you  did  that  hundred  I  lent  you  last  year.  And  I  will 
write  to  Mrs.  Farnum  and  the  ladies  to  whom  I  have 
introduced  you,  and  apologize  to  them  for  the  dis- 
grace of  bringing  you,"  says  Arthur.  "  Waiter,  you 
need  give  this  gentleman  no  more  wine  ;  he  has  had 
too  much  already."  Arthur  speaks  in  a  loud  tone,  so 
that  all  the  other  men  in  the  dining-room  have 
heard  ;  and  then  he  too  stalks  away.  "  Oh,  dam- 
mit, no,  don't  do  that,"  begins  Birmingham,  in  an- 
swer to  the  last  of  Arthur's  threats  but  one ;  but  our 
hero  is  already  beyond  his  hearing. 

Charlie  is  still  laughing,  but  now  he  finds  his  breath 
again.  "  Never  mind,  old  fellow,  you  were  drunk," 
he  says,  consolingly.  "  It'll  be  all  right,  to-morrow." 


358  First  Harvests. 

Birmingham  is  red  and  puffing  like  a  turkey-cock: 
and  at  the  same  time  struggling  with  some  clumsy 
speeches  of  repentance. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  says  Wemyss,  who  has  been  most 
uncomfortable  throughout  this  scene,  "  there  has 
been  no  such  time  since  the  declaration  of  indepen- 
dence." 

"  The  fact  is,"  adds  Charlie,  soothingly,  "  you 
touched  them  both  on  a  tender  point ;  that  fellow 
Haviland  I  suspect  of  being  a  rejected  suitor  for  Kitty 
F.  herself;  and  Arthur,  I  know,  has  had  a  soft  spot 
for  his  cousin  since  he  was  a  calf." 

But  by  this  time  Birmingham  is  going  maudlin  ;  his 
drunkenness  has  come  on  him  so  quick  that  Wemyss 
and  Townley  have  much  ado  to  get  him  home  to 
bed.  He  is  full  of  fulsome  expressions  of  regret ;  and 
ends  with  blubbering  that  he  is  sorry  for  what  he  did. 

The  next  morning,  he  woke  up  late,  and  with  a 
headache,  in  his  room  at  the  hotel  that  he  had  found 
it  pleasant  (and  economical)  to  abandon  for  so  long ; 
and  came  down-stairs  to  find  a  portmanteau  contain- 
ing all  his  clothes  that  he  had  left  at  the  Hill-and- 
Dale.  With  it,  but  without  a  letter,  were  his  re- 
ceipted bills  from  both  the  clubs. 

Birmingham  was  very  repentant.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  he  took  a  walk  with  Wemyss,  and  entered 
timidly  the  Piccadilly  Club,  where  Townley — good- 
naturedly — had  put  him  down  again.  He  passed  two 
or  three  ladies  driving  on  Fifth  Avenue  who  bowed 
to  him  no  less  cordially  than  before  ;  and  in  the  club 
some  men  came  up  and  spoke  to  him.  He  began  to 


Arthur  Has  a  Little  Dinner.        359 

fancy  that  the  thing  was  being  hushed  up;  it  is  so 
pleasant  to  hush  up  disagreeable  things,  and  we  Amer- 
icans do  like  to  be  on  good  terms  with  every  one, 
lest  some  one  say  we  are  not  good  fellows.  But  the 
earl  was  mortally  ashamed  of  the  evening's  occur- 
rences ;  and  finally  he  mustered  up  courage,  with 
many  brandy-and-sodas,  to  sit  down  and  compose  to 
Arthur  a  letter  of  repentant,  almost  grovelling  apol- 
ogy- 
Having  done  this,  he  felt  that  he  had  done  all 
America  could  well  demand.  Judge  then  of  his  in- 
dignation, when,  on  the  morrow,  the  letter  was  re- 
turned to  him  unopened. 

It  was  the  first  time  his  lordship  had  ever  had  a 
letter  sent  back  to  him  unopened;  and  he  curses 
Arthur  for  a  cad  up  to  this  day.  But  what  he  most 
feared  was  that  some  one  should  bear  tales  of  his  be- 
havior to  Miss  Farnum.  For  he  had  thrice  asked  her 
to  marry  him,  already. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

CAPTAIN  DERWENT  SEALS  HIS  FATE. 


[HE  autumn  winds  began  ;  winds  that  in  the 
country  bring  red  leaves,  and  ripening 
nuts,  and  smells  of  cider,  and  the  crisp 
white  frost ;  and  in  the  city  come  Avith 
clouds  of  pungent  dust  of  streets,  and  sticks  and 
straws,  and  make  one's  daily  walk  and  ride  a  nuisance, 
not  a  pleasure.  But  all  the  world,  or  all  the  world 
that  Arthur  saw,  was  busied  with  its  dresses  and  with 
its  future  entertainments,  and  with  rejoicings  over 
future  marriages,  and,  now  and  here,  perhaps,  regrets, 
and  longer  days  for  women,  and  sterner  work  for  men. 
For  the  beauty  of  our  modern  view  of  life  is  that  it 
bids  no  man  be  content  who  stays  in  that  position 
where  our  simple  fathers  used  to  say  a  wise  providence 
had  placed  him.  Not  even  our  primers  have  this 
lesson  now ;  but  tell  us,  with  A  who  is  the  architect 
of  his  own  fortunes,  how  we  all  may  rise  in  life.  We 
are  brought  to  make  light  of  lessons,  too — all  lessons, 
from  the  first  and  second  down — and  the  small  boy 
has  formed  the  taste  of  the  nation  and  dictates  its 
likings  not  only  on  the  fourth  of  July ;  let  us  have 
our  fun,  and  jest  at  all  the  school-marms  and  the 
moral  tales.  For  the  school-room's  mimic  can  make 
faces  long  years  before  the  first  scholar  understands. 


Captain  Derwent  Seals  His  Fate.     361 

Terrible  indeed  must  have  been  the  elders  of  a  gener- 
ation ago,  that  we  kick  our  heels  so  high  at  having 
gotten  loose  from  them. 

So  the  race  of  life  began  again ;  and  Charlie  Town- 
ley  on  the  home  stretch,  but  laboring  heavily.  Old 
Mr.  Townley  came  to  the  office  seldomer  than  ever, 
this  year ;  but  Tamms  was  there,  as  regular  as  the 
clockwork  beat  upon  a  bomb  of  dynamite.  His  wiry 
red  mustache  was  bitten  close  above  his  upper  lip, 
and  his  discreet  eyelids  more  inflamed  than  ever. 
And  Charlie  knew  that  all  their  Allegheny  Central 
stock  was  still  held  in  the  office ;  and  the  strike 
seemed  no  nearer  to  a  settlement  than  ever.  "  These 
labor  troubles  have  played  the  devil  with  the  market," 
he  would  say  to  Charlie;  "and  public  confidence  is 
entirely  lost."  Tamms  depended  much  on  public 
confidence.  And  Deacon  Remington's  brokers  would 
go  into  the  board  and  sell  their  ten  thousand  shares, 
day  after  day,  as  punctually  as  doom.  "  They  must 
have  borrowed  lots  of  stocks,"  suggested  the  younger 
and  the  smarter  Townley.  "  Can't  we  squeeze  them  ?  " 
But  wary  Tamms  would  shake  his  head.  A  "cor- 
ner "  was  a  risky  boomerang — suchlike  manoeuvres  he 
was  too  old  a  bird  to  try. 

The  firm  had  acquired  a  new  customer  that  fall ; 
no  less  a  personage  than  Lionel  Derwent.  This  un- 
accountable person  sold  or  bought  his  hundred  shares 
a  day,  and  spent  half  his  time  in  the  office,  and  pored 
over  the  ticker  like  any  other  speculator.  "  So  much 
for  your  reformers  of  the  world,"  said  young  Town- 
ley  to  Arthur ;  and  Arthur  would  have  thought  it 


362  First  Harvests. 

strange,  but  that  he  was  so  rapidly  learning  the  les- 
son of  the  world  ;  and  its  first  lesson  is,  as  he  fancied, 
that  all  men  are  alike ;  a  lesson  you  will  hear  no- 
where so  frequently  inculcated  as  in  Washington  and 
Wall  Street,  though  we  have  humbly  expressed  our 
own  opinion  upon  this  theme  before. 

Tamms  said  that  Mr.  Derwent  was  a  damned  nui- 
sance ;  but  he  made  himself  most  agreeable  to  old 
Mr.  Townley,  and  would  hold  the  old  gentleman  in 
converse  by  the  hour  whenever  he  happened  to  meet 
him  in  the  office.  Derwent  seemed  still  to  take 
great  interest  in  Arthur  too ;  but  Charlie  found  him 
even  a  greater  bore  than  Tamms.  For  he  was  also  a 
continual  visitor  at  the  Livingstones ;  and  Charlie 
worried  over  it.  "  Where  a  man's  treasure  is,  there 
shall  his  heart  be  also." 

Charlie  was  growing  very  nervous  about  the  state 
of  things  down  town ;  and  it  would  be  a  little  too 
bad  to  have  the  prize  snatched  from  him  in  the  mo- 
ment of  fruition.  He  had  had  a  devilish  good  time 
in  his  life  for  the  last  ten  years  ;  since  in  fact  he  had 
got  out  of  leading  strings ;  and  then  he  had  looked 
about  him  with  a  judicious  eye,  and  carefully  selected 
the  rich  girl  who  seemed,  on  the  whole,  the  best 
adapted  to  make  him  comfortable  ;  and  he  meant  to 
continue  to  have  a  good  time  for  many  years  to  come, 
please  the  pigs.  A  conservative  estimate  (and  Town- 
ley  knew  something  of  the  state  of  the  coffers)  placed 
the  Livingstone  fortune  at  a  million  and  a  half; 
there  was  no  entangling  family,  and  both  Mamie's 
parents  were  very  old. 


Captain  Derwcnt  Seals  His  Fate.     363 

So  he  sent  her  flowers  for  every  evening's  amuse- 
ment, whether  it  were  concert,  ball,  or  dinner;  and 
called  there  twice  a  week;  his  flowers  never  came 
with  a  card,  but  always  had  a  sort  of  trademark  of 
their  own.  Good  judges  said  that  Charlie  Town  ley 
was  compromising  himself.  Not  only  this,  but  all 
the  most  recherche  little  parties  that  so  experienced 
a  fashionable  could  invent ;  just  the  sort  of  thing  that 
made  Mamie's  young  friends  open  their  eyes,  with  en- 
vy ;  club  dinners,  and  private  dances  at  the  country 
clubs,  and  seats  upon  the  smartest  coaches  and  in 
the  most  unquestioned  opera-boxes ;  and  these  not 
mere  "  bud"  parties,  but  with  Mrs.  Malgam,  Pussie  De 
Witt,  or  Mrs.  Gower  herself  as  guests.  Thus  Townley 
wooed  her  millions  with  his  own  scarce  dollars  and 
the  aid  of  his  acquaintance  and  his  worldly  wisdom. 
And  Gracie  found  that  Mamie  was  infatuated. 

Something  impelled  her  to  make  no  secret  of  her 
troubles  to  John  Haviland  ;  and  Haviland  had  taken 
Derwent  into  council.  And  that  audacious  gentle- 
man had  seriously  proposed,  first,  kidnapping;  taking 
him  off  for  a  cruise  in  a  yacht ;  a  month's  delay,  he 
said  was  all  they  needed.  Then  he  suggested  that 
they  might  get  him  publicly  drunk.  The  enthu- 
siast was  no  stickler  for  the  commonplace,  at  best ; 
Derwent  was  a  man  of  Oriental  methods,  obvious 
and  frank.  But  Townley  had,  unfortunately,  no  small 
vices  ;  it  would  be  quite  impossible  to  get  him  drunk. 
And  Derwent  cursed  "  the  bourgeois  squeamishness 
for  human  life  "  that  prevented  as  he  said,  "  an  honest 
duel,  while  making  dull  misery  of  all  one's  days,  and 


364  First  Harvests. 

vulgar  trash  of  the  nineteenth  century's  soul."  And 
then  Derwent  hit  upon  a  plan  which  surely  no  one  but 
himself  would  have  thought  of ;  and  all  for  Gracie's 
sake ;  and  began  to  frequent  Townley's  office. 

People  began  to  wonder  why  Derwent  stayed  on 
in  New  York.  Tt  was  true  he  was  very  attentive  to 
Mamie  Livingstone;  but  it  was  scarcely  possible 
that  the  lionized  Derwent  had  met  his  fate  at  last  in 
a  boarding-school  miss.  Mamie  herself,  however,  be- 
gan to  think  such  was  the  case ;  and  was  duly  flat- 
tered by  it.  Gracie  had  many  a  time  told  her  that  a 
lady  need  never  allow  a  gentleman  to  propose  to  her 
whom  she  proposes  rejecting; — but,  dear  me,  that  was 
all  the  zest  of  a  girl's  life — before  she  was  married. 
She  made  one  or  too  fitful  efforts  to  discourage  him, 
but  the  big  man  would  not  be  discouraged.  And  really 
who  could  have  the  hardness  of  heart,  even  sober 
Gracie,  to  forbid  a  girl  her  very  first  offer  ?  And  such 
an  interesting  one  too  ;  Mamie  was  so  anxious  to  see 
how  he  would  do  it.  And  she  blushed  with  pleas- 
ure as  he  came  to  see  her. 

But  all  this  was  rage  and  desperation  to  our  friend 
young  Townley.  He  seriously  thought  of  forcing 
the  issue  then  and  there ;  but  he  did  not  quite  yet 
dare.  Yet  he  certainly  must  do  something  soon  ;  no 
one — not  even  the  clairvoyant  Derwent — knew  better 
than  Charlie  Townley  that  he  certainly  must  do  some- 
thing soon.  The  strikers  down  in  Pennsylvania  were 
said  to  be  starving ;  but  sooner  or  later  starving  men 
will  make  a  hole  in  even  Tamms's  pockets. 

Suppose  they  had  a  panic.     They  could  not  pos- 


Captain  Derwent  Seals  His  Fate.     365 

sibly  carry  the  great  railroad,  and  the  margins,  and 
the  Starbuck  Oil,  through  a  serious  trade  disturbance. 
So  long  as  the  strikers  contented  themselves  with 
trying  to  burn  up  railway  iron  and  killing  an  obscure 
policeman  or  too — railway  iron  was  cheap  enough — 
in  fact,  they  made  it — and  a  policeman  or  two  could 
be  replaced.  But  a  big,  dramatic  bit  of  rapine  that 
would  strike  terror  to  the  investing  public,  the  com- 
fortable bourgeois,  the  lambs  who  sat  at  home  in 
their  carpet-slippers  and  looked  at  chromos  of  old 
English  farmyards — and  Remington's  big  pile  stood 
no  longer  ready  to  support  them  when  things  got  bad ; 
in  fact,  he  suspected  that  that  obsolete  old  Christian 
would  like  nothing  better  than  to  make  the  public  run. 
Still,  Townley  did  not  dare  to  ask  her  at  her  house. 
You  are  at  a  woman's  mercy,  there ;  she  may  ring 
the  bell ;  she  may  even  call  her  mother ;  you  cannot 
choose  your  place,  the  stage-setting  that  most  be- 
comes you,  arrange  your  lights,  and  select  your  own 
dramatis  persona,  Charlie  Townley  was  much  like 
any  other  man,  in  the  garish  afternoon,  and  by  the 
domestic  fireside ;  in  fact  there  was  a  certain  quite 
intelligent  look  in  Mamie's  pretty  eyes  at  times 
which  Townley  found  it  hard  to  face.  Yet  he  was 
perfectly  certain  that  he  had  fascinated  her.  How 
did  he  know  ?  Well,  he  had  kissed  her.  Townley's 
maxim  was  to  kiss  a  woman  first  and  win  her 
afterwards ;  at  the  worst,  you  got  but  a  rebuff  for  an 
audacity  not  in  all  eyes  unadmirable ;  while,  if  you 
formally  proposed,  and  were  rejected,  you  had  your 
value  lowered  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  world. 


366  First  Harvests. 

He  resolved  that  it  must  be  on  his  own  ground 
and  very  late  at  night,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  very 
gay  assemblage.  He  got  up  a  country  party  of  his 
own,  matronized  by  Mrs.  Malgam ;  and  had  meant 
to  settle  matters  while  exhibiting  this  other  pretty 
woman  submissive  at  his  feet.  But  Mrs.  Malgam 
also  had  another  string  to  her  bow ;  and  the  other 
string  was  Derwent,  whom  Townley  had  to  ask : 
"  a  damned  clumsy  Englishman,"  said  he  to  her, 
"  who  has  a  cursed  knack  at  getting  in  the  wrong  place 
at  the  wrong  time." — "  In  the  right  time,  you  mean," 
laughed  Mrs.  Malgam ;  she  knew  Townley 's  game 
well  enough  ;  but  did  not  conceive  it  possible  that  he 
could  mean  to  marry  yet.  And  this  belief  was  in- 
deed so  general  that  it  came  to  Mamie's  ears;  and 
she  began  to  doubt  it,  too,  and  was  for  the  doubt,  ten 
times  more  infatuated  with  him  than' ever. 

So  Townley  made  up  his  mind  that  his  only  per- 
fectly certain  chance  was  the  Duval  ball ;  and  this 
did  not  come  off  for  some  weeks  yet. 

For  the  whole  Duval  gens  was  about  to  celebrate 
its  reception  among  the  immortals  and  Miss  Pussie's 
happy  marriage,  by  giving  a  grand  ball,  the  grandest 
ball  that  e'er  was  known,  in  our  republican  simplic- 
ity. Two  thousand  invitations  had  been  sent  out  ad- 
dressed to  every  one  who  did  not  care  to  go,  and  to 
nobody  who  did.  Two  smaller  packets  of  tickets  had 
been  sent,  one  to  Boston  and  one  to  Philadelphia, 
addressed  to  Mrs.  Weston  and  Mrs.  Rittenhouse  re- 
spectively, to  be  distributed  by  these  ladies,  where 
they  would  do  the  most  good,  as  they  knew  best ; 


Captain  Derwent  Seals  His  Fate.     367 

and  old  Antoine  Duval  felt  that  he  had  safely  bought 
his  social  distinction  at  last  as  he  had  bought  his 
membership  in  clubs  from  obliged  business  friends 
and  the  legislation  for  his  railroads  from  Congress 
and  the  Legislature  of  his  native  State. 

Meantime,  Townley's  visits  grow  more  frequent ; 
but  no  more  so  than  Derwent's ;  and  poor  Mamie  is 
quite  puzzled  and  troubled  between  the  two.  All  her 
maiden's  dreams  are  yet  of  Townley,  and  gilded  with 
his  social  splendor ;  but  she  secretly  bought  a  copy 
of  Derwent's  "  Travels  in  the  Desert "  and  read  it  on 
the  sly.  She  was  surprised  to  find  the  book  was  all 
about  the  East  End  of  London  ;  and  a  friend  told  her 
that  if  she  had  wanted  his  real  adventures,  she  should 
have  read  "  The  Treasures  of  the  King."  Yet  she  is 
sure  she  does  not  care  for  him,  and  indeed  will  tell 
him  so,  if  she  shall  ever  have  the  chance. 

She  has  the  chance,  and  very  soon — some  three  days 
before  the  great  Duval  ball.  But  it  is  hard  for  a 
maiden  at  such  times  to  be  very  speedy  with  her 
tongue ;  particularly  when  the  man  is  a  very  strong 
one,  whom  she  is  very  much  afraid  of,  and  yet  holds 
in  some  reverence;  and  who  has  a  marvellous  blue 
fire  in  his  two  deep  eyes.  Still,  Mamie  does  refuse 
him  ;  and  he  only  seems  to  plead  the  more  ;  as  if  the 
refusal  were  the  one  thing  needed  to  put  new  heart 
into  him.  And  he  takes  her  trembling  hand — there 
is  a  magnetism  in  his  own  brown  and  steady  one  that 
is  not  to  be  resisted — and  begs  at  least  for  some  re- 
spite— three  months'  consideration — a  month's,  at  least 
— and  there  is  something  strangely  thrilling  in  hear- 


368  First  Harvests. 

ing  a  brave  man  talk  to  you  of  his  love,  his  love,  for 
you,  just  you,  and  not  some  outside  person — and 
Mamie  knows  not  how,  but  somehow,  strangely,  finds 
herself  in  tears.  And  then,  as  he  draws  still  closer  to 
her,  the  door  opens  and  Gracie  comes  in. 

She  starts  back,  of  course,  but  it  is  too  late,  and  the 
man  has  sprung  to  his  feet,  and  she  is  still  sillily  blush- 
ing and  crying.  What  is  it  that  makes  Mr.  Derwent's 
face  turn,  as  he  stands  there,  so  strangely  white  ?  His 
voice  is  strong  enough  after  a  second,  though,  and  he 
speaks  almost  instantly. 

"  I  beg  you,  do  not  go,  Miss  Holyoke.  You  have 
seen  quite  too  much  to  have  any  doubt ;  nor  need 
there  be  embarrassment  about  so  plain  a  thing.  I  know 
that — that  your  kind  heart  loves  your  cous — loves  Miss 
Livingstone — more  than  all  the  world,  and  you  will 
surely  tell  her  what  is  best.  As — as  you  must  have 
fancied,  I  have  asked  her  to  marry  me.  Unhappily,  I 
have  not  seemed  worthy  to  her ;  and  I  only  beg  her 
now  for  some  delay."  Yet  there  was  a  curious  dead 
level  about  Derwent's  voice,  as  if  he  dare  not  trust 
himself  on  more  than  one  key ;  and  Gracie's  quiet  eyes 
turn  on  his  with  some  wonder.  There  is  a  silence 
broken  only  by  Mamie's  sobbing.  She  had  no  idea 
such  fun  would  prove  so  little  mirthful,  for  she  knew 
very  well  that  she  did  not  care  for  Lionel  Derwent, 
who  was  old  enough  to  be  her  father,  and  yet,  as  it 
seemed,  he  really  loved  her. 

Derwent  cut  the  matter  short  at  last.  "  I  must 
spare  you  any  more  to-day,  Miss  Livingstone.  For- 
give me,  Miss  Holyoke.  I  will  call  for  .your  answer 


Captain  Derwent  Seals  His  Fate.     369 

in  a  week,  Miss  Livingstone — surely,  you  will  grant 
me  that  delay  ?  "  And  he  strode  out  of  the  room,  hat 
and  cane  in  hand,  valiantly,  and  yet  his  eyes  did  not 
meet  Gracie's ;  a  month's  delay,  he  was  sure,  would 
save  her  cousin  from  Townley  ;  and  he  had  sacrificed 
himself  to  gain  this  month's  delay.  For  now  he 
might  never  tell  his  love  for  Gracie. 

As  he  entered  the  hall  the  servant  opened  the  front 
door  and  let  Charlie  Townley  in.     Derwent  nodded 
slightly.     "  H'  are  you,"  said  the  other,  as  they  passed. 
24 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

ARTHUR  IS  MADE   HAPPY. 

|OHN  H  AVI  LAND,  too,  was  working  very 
hard  that  fall.  He  was  not  perhaps  so 
happy  even  as  Charles  Townley,  if  this  is 
any  reason  for  hard  work.  And  have  I 
not  said  that  we  all  work  in  New  York  ?  We  work 
to  drive  away  that  bugbear  of  young  Americans — dis- 
content ;  much  as  Flossie  Gower  and  her  set  work  to 
drive  away  that  other  bugbear  of  Americans  who  have, 
surely,  no  cause  for  discontent — ennui. 

But  it  was  for  neither  of  these  two  great  things  that 
John  had  ever  worked  ;  nor  did  he  now  work  quite  as 
usual.  He  strode  down  and  up  his  town,  breasting 
the  December  snows,  and  would  have  said  that  he  was 
just  as  usual ;  and  have  half  believed  it,  but  for  that 
strange  choking  that  took  him,  by  times,  deep  down 
in  the  throat.  And  yet,  through  his  moist  eyes,  the 
earth  looked  fairer,  and  his  life  a  deeper  thing. 

How  dare  I  speak  of  John's  life,  day  by  day  ?  How 
he  goes  to  his  office,  and  reads  his  review,  and  writes 
his  speech,  and  looks  to  his  other  labors,  and  walks 
home  alone  and  late  ?  Such  humdrum  coloring,  and 
so  same  throughout ;  it  would  be  a  deadly  thing  to 
read  about ;  and  as  for  living — is  it  their  horror  of  such 


Art /Mir  is  Made  Happy.  371 

a  life  as  his  that  set  Kill  Van  Kull  and  Townley  to 
life's  pleasures  and  Flossie  Gower  and  Caryl  Wemyss 
to  seek  life's  vanities  ?  Surely ;  and  the  reader  too 
has  justified  them ;  for  is  he — or  she,  more  likely — 
not  tired  already  of  all  this  moralizing  ? 

But  she  must  suffer  me  one  moment  more. 

For  to  John  himself,  his  life  had  never  been  either 
sad  or  dull ;  nor  was  he  sad  now,  despite  his  heart  was 
wrung.  The  word  sadness  would  not  well  suit  the 
Sidneys  and  the  Falklands,  nor  even  such  of  us  who 
know  that  life  is  a  thing  that  we  must  either  throw 
away  or  sacrifice,  not  cherish  and  enjoy  ;  for  "  he  who 
loves  life  overmuch  shall  die  the  dog's  death,  utterly." 
Is  it  sad,  when  some  fair  corner-stone  is  mortised  to 
the  temple  ?  A  Sidney's  life  is  always  used. 

Yet  had  John  one  deeper  sorrow,  admitted  hardly 
to  himself.  And  this  I  hardly  dare  to  say,  lest  it  be 
scouted.  For  this  thing  was  nothing  other  than  an 
absence  of  belief  in  God.  Not  disbelief,  but  nonbe- 
lief ;  and  it  was  a  cause  not  of  sadness,  but  of  sorrow  ; 
quite  a  different  thing,  believe  me ;  for  the  latter  thing 
is  manly. 

This  mattered  not  one  iota  to  his  action.  Whatever 
lack  of  sight  his  mind  might  make  him  see ;  of  one 
thing  he  was  sure;  that  somewhere,  everywhere,  in  the 
universe  there  was  conflict.  And  is  not  that  enough  ? 
Does  the  subaltern  who  finds  himself  he  knows  not 
where,  nor  with  what  general,  in  command  of  his  little 
squad  of  troops  some  foggy  day  or  night ;  the  narrow 
saddened  field,  so  full  of  dead  and  dying,  is  all  he  sees; 
no  emperor,  nor  king,  nor  fort,  nor  even  flag,  but  only 


372  First  Harvests. 

some  enemy  he  sees,  and  this,  alas !  more  clearly ;  does 
he  cry  for  leadership,  or  play  at  hazards  with  the  man 
beside  him,  or  lay  him  down  to  death  ?  What  does 
he, — with  his  sense  of  battle  in  the  world  about,  and 
the  distant  cannon  sounds,  and  smoke  that  hides  ? 
He  stays  where  he  is,  and  fights. 

Servtis  servorum  Dei — perhaps,  is  all  the  title  such 
a  man  may  claim ;  yet  Popes  of  Rome,  acknowledged 
as  vice-gerents  of  Heaven,  have  worn  it  proudly.  Ser- 
vant of  the  servants  of  God.  The  battle  sky  is  can- 
opied with  smoke ;  yet  on  the  brows  of  some  near 
leaders  is  the  shine  of  heaven ;  and  these  he  follows. 
There  are  not  yet  so  many  that  the  one  need  be 
ashamed  ;  but  shall  take  his  orders  humbly  from  his 
poet  or  priest.  And  some  fair  souls  still  seem  to  see 
directly,  as  do  women  often.  Servants  of  God  are 
these ;  as  such,  twice  blest.  And  Gracie  Holyoke 
was  one  of  them. 

Haviland  adored  her.  This  was  his  sorrow ;  yet  a 
sorrow  he  would  not  have  been  without.  He  fancied 
she  was  pledged  to  Arthur:  he  almost  knew  that  Ar- 
thur had  her  heart.  That  was  why  he  saw  so  much 
of  Arthur,  from  the  very  first ;  this  fair-haired,  blue- 
eyed  fellow,  who  stood  so  near  him  in  the  ranks.  John 
had  seen  another  friend,  another  young  man  like  him, 
fail  and  fall ;  a  man  who  succeeded  in  the  world,  and 
failed  with  life;  a  suicide,  that  Henry  Vane  whom 
"  Baby  "  Malgam  has  forgotten.  But  Arthur  had  a 
truer  guide ;  and  John  had  hoped  for  his  and  Gracie's 
happiness. 

So  John  was  sorrowful  ;  and  he  was  troubled  too 


Arthur  is  Made  Happy.  373 

with  things  of  honor.  Is  honor,  then,  a  false  light 
too,  when  so  many  men  must  stand  by  it  alone  ?  I 
trow  not ;  not  wholly  so,  at  least.  So  John  had  had  this 
added  trouble ;  whether  he  should  tell  Gracie  of  his 
love.  And  he  had  settled  with  himself,  now,  that  he 
would  ;  and  in  plain  words ;  and  had  resolved  that  he 
would  do  so,  too,  at  Mr.  Duval's  ball ;  such  earnest 
things  may  balls  be,  after  all.  He  had  small  hope, 
but  only  great  resolve.  Man  has  no  right  to  hope, 
he  read ;  no  right  to  happiness,  and  hence  to  hope  of 
happiness  ; — and  consoled  himself. 

Novels  should  end  well,  they  tell  us  ;  does  then  the 
novel  of  life  end  well  ?  Life,  that  is  so  novel  to  each 
one,  so  old  to  fate.  Let  us  hasten  back  to  those 
with  whom  the  novel  may  end  well :  to  fortunate 
Caryl  Wemyss,  and  favored  Flossie,  and  worldly-wise 
Charlie  and  to  Arthur  Holyoke. 

He  had  made  his  way.  He  had  bettered  his  posi- 
tion. He  was  popular,  and  his  life  was  full  of  pleas- 
ure. If  he  had  not  written  a  great  poem,  he  had 
done  things  that  the  world  would  prize  more  highly. 
He  saw  his  way,  at  least,  to  substantial  success,  as 
Charlie  Townley  had  seen  it  before  him  ;  John  Hav- 
iland  still  tried  to  be  his  friend,  but  Arthur  liked 
Charlie  better  now.  Was  not  Faust  glad  on  that 
first  morning,  when  he  saw  the  world  once  more,  and 
left  the  devil  to  his  God  to  fight — permitte  divis  ce- 
tera ? 

Take  this  one  bright  December  day  for  instance ; 
he  rises  in  his  comfortable  bachelor  apartment ;  his 
head  still  full  of  dreams  of  bright  eyes  from  the  night 


374  First  Harvests. 

before ;  for  it  is  his  fortune  to  be  petted  by  women. 
He  has  a  few  hours  so-called  work,  to  be  sure ;  but 
the  work  is  among  Millions,  which  it  is  pleasant  to 
think  may  yet  be  his  some  day. 

He  left  early  in  the  afternoon  and  took  his  drive 
in  his  own  pretty  cart,  glad  to  see  and  be  seen  by  all 
he  called  his  friends.  Then  he  went  to  dine  with  a 
millionaire,  Mrs.  Malgam,  and  Mamie  Livingstone ; 
in  the  evening  to  the  opera,  and  to  the  first  great  sub- 
scription ball.  He  was  a  manager  of  the  last,  and 
wears  his  honors  with  much  grace ;  and  he  has  the 
offer  of  a  partnership  in  a  rich  young  firm. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  sat  Gracie  in  her  room.  We 
have  not  seen  so  much  of  Gracie,  lately,  as  I,  for 
one,  should  like ;  she  does  not  do  much  in  these 
pages,  perhaps.  When  women  have  the  nobler  lives 
they  ask  for  now,  our  heroine  shall  perchance  do 
more;  now  she  merely  lifts  the  men  about  her  to 
their  higher  selves.  She  is  a  power  wrought  out 
most  in  other  lives — Derwent's,  Mamie's,  Haviland's. 
I  own  I  am  unable  to  describe  her  ;  I  cannot  print 
the  fragrance  of  a  lily  on  these  pages ;  those  who  have 
seen  the  lily  do  not  need  it.  Perhaps,  if  Helen, 
Heloise,  are  the  \vornen  that  Flossie  Gower,  clever 
Flossie  Gower,  in  these  days  of  women's  rights  still 
envies  most,  I  may  have  still  some  maiden  readers 
—my  courteous  greeting  go  to  them — who  think 
the  nobler  Helens  and  the  purer  Cleopatras  may 
yet  not  have  too  small  a  part  in  life,  and  dream 
their  sweet  heart-dreams  of  Una  and  Elaine. 

In  her  bedroom,  then  (for  our  hand  is  on  the  door- 


Arthur  is  Made  Happy.  375 

knob  and  we  must  enter  now) — sat  Grade,  through 
this  afternoon.  Mamie  has  been  in,  from  time  to 
time,  and  had  close  talks  with  her ;  and  she  has  prom- 
ised Gracie  she  will  keep  her  word  with  Derwent,  and 
wait,  although  she  is  sure  she  cannot  care  for  him. 
But  now  she  is  gone,  to  dress  for  Arthur's  dinner,  and 
Gracie  sits  alone. 

The  house  is  silent ;  and  she  knows  the  old  people 
are  down  below,  and  she  must  go  and  read  to  them. 
But  the  vault  of  heaven  has  been  unfathomably  blue, 
that  day ;  and  she  has  been  looking  into  it,  over  the 
crowded  city  walls.  She  knows  that  Arthur  is  not 
thinking  of  it,  or  of  her.  And  now  the  air  has  faded  to 
the  lilac  winter  twilight,  and  all  men  are  going,  tired, 
to  their  homes.  But  she  is  idle  ;  and  idle  hours  she 
finds  so  hard  to  fill !  She  took  a  book  she  loved,  and 
read  ;  but  gradually  the  dark  came,  and  the  book  fell 
from  her  hand  ;  and  now  her  hands  are  on  her  face, 
and  her  soft  eyes  closed,  and  she  is  crying,  silently. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE   FINANCIER'S  DINNER. 

| HE  new  year  has  come;  and  all  the  world 
has  been  celebrating,  with  children's  dances 
and  with  children's  dinners  and  with  a 
multiplicity  of  costly  toys,  the  birth  of 
Christ.  Grown-up  people  who  have  been  good-na- 
tured have  assisted,  and  helped  their  boys  play  with 
candles  and  with  evergreens  as  they  helped  them  play 
with  fire-crackers  on  the  fourth  of  July,  that  other 
great  feast  or  holy-day  our  calendar  still  keeps.  Grown 
people  who  have  not  been  good-natured  have  kept  to 
their  clubs,  mostly,  men  to  men ;  and  the  women 
have  snatched  the  chance  to  get  a  week  of  resting  and 
a  little  early  sleep.  For  now  the  children's  play  is 
over ;  and  the  winter's  balls  are  to  begin  in  earnest,  a 
serious  business,  as  we  have  said. 

On  the  evening  of  December  thirty-first,  young 
Townley  was  invited  to  dine  with  his  partner,  Mr. 
Phineas  Tamms,  in  Brooklyn.  He  never  liked  these 
dinners ;  but  yet  he  learned  too  much  from  them  to 
stay  away.  A  voyage  to  Brooklyn  combined  all  the 
discomforts  of  a  trip  to  Europe,  without  the  excitement 
and  rewards — as  he  said  at  his  favorite  Columbian 
Club,  where  he  stopped  to  take  a  modest  tonic  on  his 


A  Financier  s  Dinner.  377 

way  down  town.  "  I  wish  I  were  going,"  said  one  of 
the  circle,  who  dallied  a  little  in  stocks,  "  and  had 
your  chance  of  getting  points."  For  these  dinners  of 
Tamms,  the  great  street  leader,  were  known  as  meet- 
ings where  many  schemes  were  laid,  and  information 
gleaned,  as  Tamms  unbended  after  dinner,  worth 
many  thousands  for  each  syllable,  in  gold. 

"Yes,"  said  old  Mr.  Townley,  wagging  his  gray 
head  sagely,  "  my  partner  is  a  very  able  young  man — 
a  very  able  young  man  indeed."  He  was  taking 
nothing  ;  but  it  was  his  usual  hour  to  be  at  the  club ; 
and  the  New  Year's  time  inclined  the  old  gentleman 
to  kindliness  for  all  the  world  ;  so  he  had  left  his  pri- 
vate and  particular  seat  by  the  window  and  joined  the 
group  of  younger  fellows,  to  see  how  "  his  Boys  "  (as 
he  called  all  young  men  he  knew)  were  getting  along. 
As  such,  he  was  liked  by  them ;  and  treated  with  but 
the  faintest  tinge  of  patronage  his  age  made  neces- 
sary. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  market,  Mr.  Townley  ?  " 
said  one  of  them  with  a  manner  of  much  deference. 
"  We  have  had  a  long  spell  of  sag,  and  the  public  are 
not  in  it." 

"  Ha,  ha,"  chuckled  Mr.  Townley,  delightedly, 
rubbing  his  hands.  "  Townley  &  Son  have  seen  a 
longer  spell  than  this.  The  public  will  come  in  it 
fast  enough  when  we  pull  the  market  through.  Wait 
till  after  the  holidays,  my  boys — I  say  no  more  ;  but 
wait  till  after  the  holidays.  As  I  was  saying  to  my 
old  friend  Livingstone,  just  now,  a  panic  never  comes 
on  a  long  falling  market.  There  was  fifty-seven — 


378  First  Harvests. 

and  thirty-eight — he  did  not  remember  thirty-eight 
— Charles  Townley  &  Son  held  up  the  banks,  not 
they  us,  in  those  days — "  and  the  old  man  went  off, 
chuckling,  and  joined  his  old  friend  Livingstone,  the 
oldest  member  of  the  club,  after  himself,  in  the  corner 
window  that  was  sacred  to  them. 

Jimmy  De  Witt  looked  after  the  retreating  figure 
sadly.  "What  a  pity  the  old  man  does  not  know 
anything,"  said  he.  "  He  would  not  lie  about  it,  if 
he  could." 

Charlie  left  the  club,  and  drew  his  fur  overcoat 
tightly  about  his  chest,  as  the  biting  wind  swept,  from 
river  to  river,  through  Twenty-third  Street.  He  was 
not  surprised  his  senior  partner  was  not  going  to  the 
dinner,  and  only  wished  he  did  not  have  to  go  him- 
self. Day  after  to-morrow  was  the  Duval  ball ;  and 
he  wished  to  keep  himself  fresh  for  that.  Was  he 
not  going  to  put  his  fate  to  the  test,  and  win  or  lose 
the  girl  he  meant  to  marry  ?  And  New  Year's  day 
would  be  all  work  for  him  ;  for  Tamms  had  bespoken 
his  most  private  services ;  and  he  had  some  reason  to 
look  upon  the  balance-sheet  with  apprehension. 

Nor  was  his  peace  of  mind  restored  by  Tamms's 
dinner.  No  ladies  were  allowed  at  Tamms's  dinners, 
and  only  one  well-tried  and  proven  waiter.  Tamms 
sat  at  the  head  of  his  table,  and  until  the  coffee  was 
brought,  said  nothing ;  or  if  he  did  speak,  talked  of 
church  matters  or  of  the  weather.  But  when  the 
coffee  and  cigars  appeared  (for  cigars  and  coffee  were 
almost  his  only  food,  and  he  was  never  known  to 
drink  wine  at  a  business  dinner)  Tamms's  rusty  iron 


A  Financier  s  Dinner.  379 

jaw  would  open  and  the  slow  words  drop  out  gin- 
gerly, one  by  one,  over  the  stiff  curtain  of  his  beard, 
while  all  the  knights  of  his  round  table  craned  their 
ears  to  hear  them. 

But  Townley  noticed  some  very  curious  things 
about  this  dinner.  In  the  first  place,  the  guests 
were  all  young  men,  and  rich  men ;  but  not  men  of 
much  experience  or  sagacity  upon  the  street.  Dea- 
con Remington,  who  in  times  past  had  had  his  regu- 
lar seat,  was  notably  absent.  And  Tamms  talked 
more  freely  than  was  his  wont,  and  more  steadily 
throughout  the  dinner,  which  last  was  far  more  rich 
than  usual  and  was  served  by  half  a  dozen  hired 
waiters. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  market  ? "  was  again 
the  question  a  beardless  youth  asked  of  Tamms  anx- 
iously, to  the  dismay  of  all  about  him.  But  the 
beardless  youth  had  just  come  fresh  from  California 
with  his  father's  fourteen  millions,  bent  on  becoming 
a  power  in  the  street ;  and  had  not  learned  his  money- 
changer's etiquette  as  yet.  But  to  the  surprise  of  all 
the  rest,  Tamms  answered  quite  naturally  and  fully. 
"  I  don't  know  much  about  the  market,"  said  he,  can- 
nily.  "  I  guess  perhaps  there  ain't  much  in  the  mar- 
ket, anyhow,  of  itself " 

"  You  think  it  a  good  sale  ?  "  broke  in  the  beardless 
youth  eagerly ;  while  his  neighbors  kicked  him  under 
the  table  and  the  ones  placed  farthest  from  their  host 
swore  at  him  audibly. 

"  I  ain't  sayin'  what  I  think  it — at  least,  not  jest 
now,"  said  Tamms,  with  dignity.  "  I  s'pose  things  is 


380  First  Harvests. 

kind  o'  stagnant — unless  some  feller  drops  a  stone  into 
the  pool." 

The  attention  grew  breathless;  you  might  have 
heard  a  pin  drop  ;  though  not,  perhaps,  the  flutter  of 
an  angel's  wing.  "  There's  a  good  deal  of  money 
coming  in  on  the  first  of  January ;  and  I  don't  know 
but  what  things  might  start  up  a  little,  if  some  stock 
got  kind  o'  scarce."  Tamms  spoke  these  last  words 
with  greater  precision,  and  in  much  better  English 
than  the  former  ones ;  and  his  young  partner  knew 
that  in  this  accent  he  was  always  lying.  But  all  the 
rest  had  treasured  every  syllable  of  the  oracle's  words, 
more  carefully  than  any  reporter's  note-book  could 
have  set  them  down,  while  in  appearance  dallying  with 
their  cigarettes  and  iced  champagne.  "  He  means  a 
corner,"  said  every  man  to  himself ;  "  who's  he  gun- 
ning for  ?  " — "  He  wants  them  to  think  he  means  to 
corner  Allegheny,"  said  young  Townley  to  himself. 

"  Old  man  Remington  has  caused  the  present 
break,"  said  a  rich  young  stock-broker  with  an  air  of 
much  importance. 

"  The  deacon  and  I  are  kind  o'  out,"  said  Tamms. 
"  The  fact  is,  I'm  afraid  the  deacon  may  have  been 
selling  too  many  stocks." 

"  Remington  has  sold  nothing  but  Allegheny,"  said 
every  man  to  himself ;  and  felt  that  they  were  well 
repaid  their  ferry-trips  to  Brooklyn.  But  after  this, 
Mr.  Tamms  obstinately  refused  to  talk  any  more 
stocks,  but  only  Shakespeare  and  the  music-glasses, 
that  is,  of  Mr.  Beecher  and  the  Coney  Island  races. 

Charlie  outstayed  them  all,  and  then  went  home 


A  Financiers  Dinner.  381 

alone.  "  It  can't  be  done,"  he  said  to  himself;  "the 
Governor  knows  it  and  he's  desperate.  I  don't  believe 
that  we  can  borrow  fifty  thousand  more."  He  was 
sitting  alone  in  the  ladies'  room  of  the  ferry-boat,  his 
fur  collar  pulled  well  up  about  his  face,  smoking  one 
of  his  own  cigars ;  for  Tamms's  were  too  strong. 
There  was  only  one  other  passenger  upon  the  boat ;  a 
drunken  working  man  ;  and  he  was  cursing  Townley 
for  a  swell.  "  Confound  him,  they  wouldn't  let  me 
smoke  there,  though  it  is  late  at  night.  But  I  ain't 
got  no  fine  cigar,  perhaps." 

Tamms's  fertility  of  invention  was  miraculous;  but 
still  it  seemed  to  Townley  that  he  was  hard  pressed 
now.  Their  profit  on  that  last  summer's  operation 
had  been  large — on  paper;  but  it  was  this  devilish 
tightness  of  money  that  made  things  bad. 

Suddenly,  there  was  a  peal  of  joyous  bells,  ringing 
loud  all  at  once,  chimes,  church-bells,  factories,  and 
schools,  from  both  sides  of  the  river.  Townley  start- 
ed nervously,  and  then  remembered  with  a  laugh  that 
it  was  New  Year's  day.  "  What  damned  rot  it  is," 
said  he ;  and  then  betook  himself  again  to  thinking. 
It  seemed  as  if  that  merry  music  brought  him  new 
ideas ;  for  he  slapped  his  thigh,  and  said  aloud,  "  By 
Jove,  I  have  it." — "  What's  the  swell  a-chuckling 
over  now  ?"  said  our  friend  Simpson,  looking  in  the 
window  from  outside. 

"  The  deacon  must  have  sold  about  all  the  stock 
there  is,"  Charlie  went  on  to  himself;  "  and  if  we  can 
only  carry  ours,  and  those  rich  lambs  go  in  to  buy — 
the  deacon  can't  deliver.  Why,  it's  making  them  do 


382  First  Harvests. 

the  cornering  for  us — doesn't  cost  us  a  cent — and  if  we 
get  a  little  short  of  money,  we  can  even  drop  a  few 
shares  to  them  ourselves,  and  no  one  be  the  wiser. 
Provided  only  some  devilish  panic  or  strike  or  war  of 
rates  does  not  come  in  just  now,"  he  added,  as  the 
boat  jarred  heavily  against  the  dock. 

The  bells  were  silent  now,  and  Charlie,  wrapping 
his  fur  about  him,  walked  up  the  snowy  and  deserted 
street  along  the  wharves.  There  was  a  foul  dampness 
coming  from  the  tired  water  that  still  splashed  beneath 
the  piles  ;  but  the  city's  faults  were  charitably  covered 
up  in  snow.  For  once  in  his  life,  Townley  had  an  in- 
stinct of  economy,  and  took  no  carriage ;  a  fact  which 
Simpson,  slouching  along  behind  him,  had  noticed. 
There  was  no  horse-car  waiting,  so  he  walked  briskly 
up  a  narrow  cross-street  into  the  city,  still  smoking 
his  cigar.  "  Damn  him,"  thought  Simpson,  "  I  won- 
der how  much  he's  got  ?  I'd  scrag  him  for  a  hundred." 
And  he  drew  a  long  knife  from  its  sheath,  and  hid 
it  with  his  right  hand,  in  his  breast.  Simpson  has 
been  unlucky  lately,  with  his  pools,  even  as  has  Mr. 
Tamms. 

But  Charlie  is  still  thinking;  of  Mamie  Livingstone 
and  of  the  ball  to-morrow  night.  The  evening's  talk 
has  had  one  consequence,  not  wholly  material,  at  least ; 
it  has  won  for  little  Mamie  the  cavalier  she  loves. 
Townley  feels  now  that  all  his  future  hangs  upon  this 
slender  thread:  curse  it,  he  may  have  waited  too  long. 
He  has  had  a  dozen  chances  to  marry  girls  before 
this  ;  Pussie  Duval,  herself,  who  gives  the  ball  to-mor- 
row night — 


A  Financier  s  Dinner.  383 

He  is  stopped  by  a  man  at  the  corner  of  the  street. 
"  Got  a  light,  boss  ?  " 

The  voice  is  rude  and  husky,  and  the  man  has  been 
drinking.  Charlie  looks  at  him  good-naturedly,  and 
throws  open  his  fur-lined  coat ;  and  as  he  does  so,  the 
man  notices  that  he  too  looks  pale  and  worried. 

"  Certainly,"  says  Charlie.  "  Take  a  cigar,  won't 
you — for  the  first  of  the  year  ?  "  Charlie  has  a  pleas- 
ant smile ;  and  he  meets  the  other's  eye  frankly. 
And  Simpson  takes  his  right  hand  from  his  breast. 

He  takes  the  cigar,  shame-facedly  ;  and  shambles 
hurriedly  off,  not  waiting  for  his  light. 

"  Poor  devil,  I  suppose  he  wants  to  smoke  it  in  a 
warmer  place  than  this,"  says  Charlie  ;  and  pulls  his 
furs  close  about  him  and  hurries  safely  home. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE   DEACON'S  VENGEANCE. 

IHARLIE  TOWNLEY  had  no  rest  on 
New  Year's  day.  His  sleep  had  been 
troubled,  that  night  after  Tamms's  din- 
ner; and  he  was  kept  awake,  by  the  dan- 
ger that  he  saw,  ignorant  of  the  greater  one  unseen 
that  he  had  escaped.  The  day  was  a  holiday ;  "  the 
Street"  was  as  deserted,  almost,  as  on  Sunday; 
though  the  policeman  on  his  rounds  and  the  children, 
playing  at  snow-balling  in  the  centre  of  the  empty 
street,  could  see,  above  the  half-drawn  window-shades, 
troubled  faces  of  men  inside  and  clerks  bending  in- 
dustriously over  the  great  ledgers. 

Townley  was  there  all  day,  closeted  with  Mr. 
Tamms.  He  scarcely  gave  himself  time  for  a  bit  of 
bread,  at  noon,  when  the  chimes  of  Trinity  at  the 
head  of  the  street  were  ringing  again  joyously.  Thus 
he  kept  his  holy  day,  counting  his  money  in  his 
counting-house,  making  up  the  balance  of  their  year's 
labors,  as  is  our  modern  way  of  keeping  holy-days. 
And  as  the  day  wore  on,  it  became  evident,  even  to 
him,  that  the  money,  or  rather  those  slips  of  paper 
printed  or  engraved  which  might  bring  in  money, 
were  distressingly  scanty  ;  while  on  the  other  hand, 


The  Deacon  s  Vengeance.  385 

the  footing  of  notes  payable  grew  most  portentously. 
He  might,  indeed,  have  thanked  his  holy-day  for  one 
thing — that  many  of  their  loans  fell  due  upon  the 
morrow,  in  consequence  of  it. 

Charlie  had  never  quite  thoroughly  known  the  busi- 
ness. Mr.  Tamms  and  Mr.  Townley  both  had  their 
private  iron  boxes  in  the  vault ;  and  he  had  no  means 
of  knowing  what  might  be  in  these.  And  Mr.  Town- 
ley  Senior  had  another  iron  box  marked  "  Trusts." 
On  the  other  hand  there  was  also  no  means  of  his 
knowing  how  much  they  had  borrowed  on  their  pri- 
vate accounts. 

Tamms  had  been  very  silent  through  the  day  ;  and 
his  calmness  gave  Charlie  some  encouragement. 
Nevertheless,  the  total  of  liabilities  was  appalling: 
counting  their  own  loans,  and  loans  of  the  railroad, 
and  of  Starbuck  Oil,  it  was  over  thirteen  miiiions  of 
dollars.  True,  to  meet  this,  they  had  two-thirds  the 
entire  stock  of  Allegheny  Central — all,  in  fact,  that 
was  not  held  by  private  investors  or  in  permanent 
trusts,  for  they  had  not  dared  to  sell  a  thousand 
shares  since  the  past  summer — and  all  the  bonds  and 
nearly  half  the  stock  of  Starbuck  Oil.  But  every 
share  of  both  was  pledged  for  their  large  debts  ;  to 
sell  even  so  little  as  a  thousand  shares  would  break 
the  price  and  bring  a  call  for  further  "  margin."  And 
they  had  no  further  margin  to  put  up.  Charlie  was 
appalled.  "  Couldn't  we  get  Remington's  brokers  to 
sell  some  for  us  ?  "  he  hazarded,  at  last. 

"  What's  the  use  ?  We'd  have  to  buy  it  ourselves," 
answered  Tamms.  "  It's  been  the  old  deacon,  right 


386  First  Harvests. 

through — damn  him,"  he  added.  Charlie  had  never 
heard  him  swear  before ;  and  it  struck  him,  all  at 
once,  that  Tamms  was  growing  careless  with  his  mask- 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Tamms,  as  if  he  had  read  his 
thoughts,  "let's  go  to  dinner — then  we'll  feel  more 
like  tackling  the  assets.  You'll  have  to  go  in  and 
buy  the  whole  market  in  the  morning,  anyhow." 

This  bold  speech  restored  a  little  of  Townley's 
courage;  and  they  went  and  had  a  somewhat  grim 
banquet,  with  plenty  of  champagne,  however,  at  the 
Astor  House.  Then  they  went  back  to  Wall  Street 
in  the  evening ;  and  worked  together  until  midnight. 
And  Mr.  Tamms  showed  Townley  a  list  of  securities 
that  almost  gave  him  strength  to  face  the  morrow. 
"  These,"  said  he,  showing  the  paper,  "  are  my  own ; 
and  these  other,"  showing  a  still  longer  list,  "are  Mr. 
Townley's." 

"  Had  I  better  see  him  ?  " 

"  What's  the  use  of  bothering  the  old  man  ?  He 
won't  be  down  to-morrow."  Now  Charlie  had  never 
heard  Tamms  call  Mr.  Townley  "  the  old  man  "  be- 
fore. 

"  How  much  shall  I  buy  ?  " 

"  Buy  Allegheny  and  Starbuck  Oil  until  you're 
black  in  the  face.  I  can  get  two  millions  on  this 
stuff  easy.  And  those  young  fellows  who  were  at 
my  dinner  will  be  buying  too,  I  guess.  I'll  catch  old 
Remington,  by  God,  and  this  time  I'll  bleed  him 
white."  And  Tamms's  bleared  eyes  glared,  and  his 
beard  bristled,  and  his  straight  red  mustache  shut 
down  over  his  thin  lips  like  a  wire  trap.  He  was  not 


The  Deacon  s  Vengeance.  387 

a  pleasant  sight,  as  he  said  these  words.  "  If  you  get 
frightened,  send  around  for  me,"  he  concluded,  more 
quietly ;  and  they  locked  the  offices  and  separated  on 
the  corner  of  the  street. 

That  night  Charlie  did  not  sleep  at  all.  He  lay 
broad  awake,  thinking  now  of  the  business,  now  of 
Mamie  Livingstone,  his  lady-love.  He  angrily 
wished  that  he  had  put  his  courtship  to  its  climax 
sooner.  A  pretty  mood  he  was  now  to  woo  in — at 
the  ball  to-morrow  night !  Sleep  was  impossible ; 
and  he  got  up  and  smoked  cigars  and  paced  the  room 
impatiently. 

In  the  morning,  however,  his  hopes  were  higher. 
After  all,  they  might  probably  weather  this  squall,  if 
only  for  a  few  weeks  ;  and  on  that  evening,  by  all 
that  was  holy,  he  would  win  the  hand  of  pretty  little 
Mamie — and  her  millions.  Then  Tamms  might  split 
his  wicked  head  for  all  he  cared.  Mr.  Tamms  had 
not  got  to  the  office  when  Charlie  arrived;  but  he 
went  off  to  the  board,  and  began  his  bidding  boldly. 

But  that  last  night  had  come  the  news  of  the  great 
Allegheny  Central  strike,  no  longer  to  be  suppressed 
by  the  telegraph  or  the  company,  born  of  that  riotous 
meeting  which  our  friend  Derwent  had  so  vainly  tried 
to  check  and  James  Starbuck  had  fomented,  coming 
from  the  races  and  his  sister's  pretty  pony-carriage 
that  emulated  Mrs.  Gower's  own.  The  stock  had 
dropped  a  fraction  actually  before  his  own  first  bid 
was  heard ;  and  he  knew  that  the  message  had  flashed 
all  over  the  country,  "  opening  weak."  There  was  a 
very  maelstrom  about  the  Allegheny  Central  sign — 


388  First  flarvests. 

he  found  it  easy  to  keep  in  the  centre  of  the  whirl, 
however,  and  bought  it  manfully.  But  soon  he  found 
the  reason  of  this ;  he  was  the  only  broker  that  was 
buying.  Some  of  the  young  men  that  had  been  at 
Tamms's  dinner  he  saw,  upon  the  outskirts  of  the 
crowd,  and  tried  to  wink  at  them  encouragingly ;  but 
evidently  the  news  of  the  strike,  or  some  other  warn- 
ing, had  frightened  them,  for  they  held  aloof.  He 
could  hardly  pretend  to  keep  account  of  the  stock 
that  he  was  buying,  though  he  jotted  as  rapidly  as  he 
could  on  his  bit  of  paper.  A  telegram  Avas  thrust 
into  his  hand ;  he  read  it  hurriedly ;  it  was  from 
Tamms — "  Keep  it  up — strikers  reported  starving." — 
"  Confound  'em,  they  can't  starve  before  to-morro\v, 
though,"  thought  he;  but  he  went  on  taking  all  stock 
they  offered ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  world  was 
offering  stock. 

It  was  a  terrible  hour.  He  looked  furtively  at  the 
clock,  the  while  he  kept  on  bidding.  Some  minutes 
of  the  "  call''  still  remained.  A  messenger  forced  his 
way  through  the  crowd,  with  a  note  from  the  office. 
It  was  from  their  banking-clerk  :  "  Money  ten  per 
cent.  Fechheimer  has  called  for  margin."  Curse  the 
rate  of  money ;  what  cared  he  what  it  cost  if  they 
had  only  got  it  ?  Why  in  heaven  didn't  Lauer  tell 
him  that  ?  And  he  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  brow 
and  went  on  bidding. 

And  now  there  was  a  sudden  eddy  in  the  crowd, 
and  it  opened  inward  and  he  saw  Deacon  Remington 
himself.  Townley's  face  fell,  despite  him  ;  he  was 
not  yet  old  enough  to  be  quite  a  perfect  gambler ;  and 


The  Deacon  s  Vengeance.  389 

there  was  a  sort  of  awe-struck  hush,  as  the  ranks  of  the 
Greeks  might  have  hushed  before  Troy  when  Achilles 
took  the  field. 

"  Five  thousand  at  seventy-five,"  said  old  Reming- 
ton, turning  a  wad  of  tobacco  in  his  cheek. 

"  Take  it,"  said  Charlie,  coolly.  Now  seventy-five 
was  nearly  two  whole  points  below  the  last  quoted 
sale;  which  had  been  a  little  lot  of  two  hundred 
shares  sold  by— alas,  shall  we  say  it  ?  Of  such,  how- 
ever, is  the  friendship  of  Wall  Street — his  old  friend 
Arthur  Holyoke.  Charlie  was  reckless  now,  and  had 
nailed  his  colors  to  the  mast ;  a  pretty  sure  sign,  by 
the  way,  that  a  man  is  beaten. 

But  the  artful  Tamms  had  still  one  more  trick  in 
his  bag.  In  the  momentary  hush  that  followed  this 
first  discharge  of  heavy  guns,  Charlie  got  another 
telegram.  It  was  dated  Brooklyn,  like  the  first. 
"  Allegheny  Central — special  stockholders  meeting  for 
dividend — books  close  to-morrow."  Tamms  would 
have  compressed  the  gospel  of  eternal  life  into  ten 
words. 

Then  a  clever  idea  struck  young  Townley.  If  they 
had  no  money,  neither  had  Remington  and  his  crowd 
any  stock.  "  Post  this  telegram,"  he  said  to  his  clerk 
who  had  brought  it.  And  then  : 

"  I  want  ten  thousand  more  of  Allegheny  Central 
—cask." 

Now  "  cash  "  meant  that  the  stock  must  be  de- 
livered that  day,  as  the  books  closed  on  the  morrow. 

There  was  another  pause.  He  could  hear  the 
younger  brokers  among  his  adversaries  anxiously  in- 


390  First  Harvests. 

quiring  the  loaning  rate  on  Allegheny  Central.  Now 
Charlie  knew  very  well  there  was  none  to  loan. 

"  I'll  give  seventy-six  for  ten  thousand,  cash."  And 
this  time  there  was  a  sort  of  wolf-like  howl ;  but  no 
other  response. 

"  Seventy-seven  ?  —  Seventy-eight  ? —  EIGHTY  ?  " 

The  baffled  deacon  turned  his  quid  again.  "  Sev- 
enty— at  the  opening,"  said  he  at  last.  But  Charlie 
laughed  scornfully. 

"  I  want  it  now,  please,  deacon/'  And  here  some  of 
those  rich  young  men  who  had  been  at  the  dinner,  see- 
ing a  turn  in  the  tide  of  battle,  ranged  themselves  on 
Townley's  side.  The  price  was  run  up  with  astound- 
ing rapidity.  "  Eighty — one — two — three — five — "  the 
deacon  looked  on  impotently.  Not  for  one  moment 
did  he  believe — nor,  perhaps,  many  others  there — that 
the  house  of  Townley  &  Tamms  could  meet  this  con- 
tract. But  the  rules  of  trade  forbade  inquiring  into 
that,  so  long  as  they  had  met  their  obligations. 

"  NINETY,"  said  Charlie,  in  ill-concealed  triumph. 
And  the  hammer  fell,  and  the  morning  board  was 
over;  and  there  was  a  sort  of  cheer  from  the  money- 
seeking  multitude.  Throughout  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  greatest  trading  nation  in  the  world  it  would  be 
known  in  a  few  minutes  that  Allegheny  had  closed  at 
ninety,  bid.  All  danger  of  further  calls  for  margin  on 
that  day  at  least  was  removed  ;  and  Charlie  went  back 
in  triumph  to  the  office. 

And  even  yet,  though  it  is  three  years  since — and 
three  years  is  a  generation  on  Wall  Street — this  great 
battle  is  remembered ;  and  the  audacity  of  young 


The  Deacons  Vengeance.  391 

Charlie  Townley  and  how  he  stood  up  before  the 
great  bearleader  is  told,  as  Romans  told  how  Horatio 
held  the  bridge  ;  told  by  brokers  about  their  firesides, 
if  they  have  firesides,  to  their  children,  when  they 
have  any.  And  Charlie's  memory  was  kept  bright ; 
and  his  deeds  of  prowess  not  forgotten.  For  it  was 
many  a  long  month  before  he  appeared  upon  the 
floor  again. 

He  went  back  flushed  with  victory,  like  a  warrior 
to  his  camp.  Now  he  could  look  forward  with  due 
pleasure  to  the  ball  that  evening.  Once  more  he  had 
leisure  for  thoughts  of  ladies  fair  and  love.  And  as 
Paris,  weary  of  the  battle,  might  have  looked  forward 
to  his  Helen,  so  he  looked  forward  to  his  tender  in- 
terview with  Mamie  Livingstone  that  night.  If 
Tamms  had  only  got  the  money  for  their  notes  fall- 
ing due  that  day,  they  might  go  on  with  safety  for 
some  months  at  least. 

Now  that  he  had  time  to  think,  it  struck  him  as 
curious  that  both  his  telegrams  had  been  dated 
Brooklyn.  He  quickened  his  step ;  and  arriving  at 
the  office,  his  first  inquiries  were  for  his  active  partner. 
"  Mr.  Tamms  has  not  been  in  to-day,"  said  Mr. 
Lauer. 

This  was  very  strange.  He  telegraphed  at  once  for 
Tamms  at  Brooklyn,  telling  him  of  the  glorious  vic- 
tory they  had  won  ;  and  took  his  needed  lunch  while 
waiting  for  the  answer.  Then  he  went  and  ordered 
his  flowers  to  be  sent  to  Mamie.  But  when  he  got 
back,  there  was  no  answer  yet. 

He   began   to  grow  nervous.     It   was  nearly  two 


392  First  Harvests. 

o'clock;  and  he  must  be  going  back  to  the  board. 
Leaving  word  at  the  office  that  he  was  to  be  sent  for 
immediately  when  Mr.  Tamms  came  back,  he  took 
the  keys  to  their  boxes  and  went  to  the  vaults  himself. 

He  found  one  certificate  only  in  the  box — for  one 
thousand  shares  of  Starbuck  Oil.  Well,  this  was  bet- 
ter than  nothing.  But  where  was  all  the  list  of  bonds 
and  stocks  that  Tamms  had  shown  him  on  the  night 
before  ?  In  the  elder  partner's  private  boxes,  he  sup- 
posed. And  these  he  could  not  get  till  Tamms's  re- 
turn. Could  he  be  ill,  by  any  chance  ?  It  was  not 
like  Tamms  to  be  ill  at  such  a  time.  His  mind  was 
greater  than  his  body,  too,  and  held  the  laws  of  nat- 
ure in  control. 

In  despair,  he  tried  the  lock  of  Tamms's  private  box. 
To  his  astonishment  it  opened  at  the  touch.  With  an 
intense  relief,  he  saw  it  was  full  of  papers.  Far-sighted 
Tamms  had  foreseen  this,  too. 

But  the  relief  was  short-lived.  The  papers  were 
nothing  but  insurance  policies,  contracts  of  no  money 
value,  leases  of  real  estate,  and  a  deed  of  a  pew  in 
Tamms's  church.  Could  Tamms  have  taken  the  other 
papers  with  him  to  raise  the  money  on  himself  ?  In 
his  despair  he  tried  old  Mr.  Townley's  box.  This 
also  was  not  locked.  But,  to  his  horror,  he  found  that 
it  was  quite  empty.  Empty  ?  His  head  swam,  and 
the  open  box  seemed  to  yawn  before  his  eyes  like  some 
black  pit.  He  even  dragged  down  Mr.  Townley's  box 
marked  Trusts.  That  was  empty  too. 

Charlie  ran  back  to  the  office,  streaming  with  a  cold 
sweat  of  terror.  His  last  hope — that  Tamms  would 


The  Deacon  s  Vengeance.  393 

be  there — proved  equally  vain.  That  ingenious  per- 
son had  not  been  heard  from  since  the  morning. 

At  three  o'clock,  the  doors  of  Townley  &  Tamms, 
successors  to  Charles  Townley  &  Son,  which  had  not 
been  closed  in  a  business  day  before  since  sixty-eight 
years,  were  shut.  And  a  notice,  posted  on  the  outer 
iron  rail  of  the  office,  in  Mr.  Adolph  Lauer's  neat  writ- 
ing, informed  their  creditors  that  the  old  firm  were 
"temporarily  unable  to  meet  their  obligations." 

But  the  "ticker"  went  on  relentlessly  through  the 
afternoon  ;  and  the  scared  clerks,  reading  it,  abandon- 
ing all  other  business,  brought  Charlie  news,  from 
time  to  time,  of  the  great  panic  that  was  in  the  board  ; 
how  Allegheny  Central  went  to  fifty  ;  how  even  Star- 
buck  Oil  could  find  no  purchasers.  And  while  many 
a  quiet  home  throughout  the  land  was  as  yet  undis- 
turbed, little  recking  that  the  great  railroad  on  which 
they  had  lived  so  long  was  at  last  insolvent,  Charlie 
Townley  sate  doggedly  in  his  barred  office,  hoping 
vainly  for  Mr.  Tamms,  or  puzzling,  equally  vainly, 
how  to  meet  the  million  that  they  owed  that  day,  with 
his  thousand  shares  of  Starbuck  Oil. 

From  time  to  time,  he  would  lay  down  the  hopeless 
task  to  think  of  the  ball,  that  evening.  Now  he  could 
not  dare  to  go.  Even  he  could  not  venture  to  ask  a 
woman's  hand  on  the  day  that  all  the  world  knew  he 
was  ruined.  Ruined — aye,  and  fraudulently.  Where 
were  Mr.  Townley's  trusts  that  he  so  long  had  kept  so 
well  ?  In  Tamms's  pocket,  perhaps,  flying  with  these, 
too,  to  Canada.  There  was  a  swarm  of  reporters  press- 
ing at  the  door ;  vociferating  for  a  member  of  the 


394  First  Harvests. 

firm.  The  noise  at  last  attracted  his  attention  ;  and 
he  went  out  and  told  them,  with  as  calm  a  face  as  he 
could  wear,  that  Mr.  Tamms  was  absent ;  but  on  the 
morrow  when  he  returned,  all  would  be  made  good. 
But  Charlie  knew  well  that  Phineas  Tamms  would 
never  return  to  the  house  of  Townley  &  Tamms.  He 
sent  a  despatch  for  Mr.  Townley,  however,  and  waited ; 
and  worked  over  the  weary  figures,  once  more,  till 
after  midnight. 

And  this  was  how  he  spent  the  evening,  while  poor 
Mamie  was  watching  for  him,  vainly,  at  the  ball. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE   DUVAL  BALL. 

jHE  evening  of  the  great  ball  has  come,  at 
last ;  all  the  preparations  have  been  made 
to  the  very  last  touch ;  the  thousand  or- 
chids have  arrived,  that  are  to  fade  away 
their  costly  blooms  in  this  one  evening's  pleasure; 
brought  from  forests  of  the  Amazon,  where,  perhaps 
they  saw  no  brighter  colors  and  heard  no  louder  chat- 
tering of  bird  or  biped  than  they  will  to-night.  And 
the  fifty  imported  footmen  have  arrived  also  and  cased 
their  faultless  calves  in  white  silk  stockings  ;  and  old 
Antoine  is  sitting  in  his  private  "library,"  smoking, 
with  his  ashcup  upon  the  billiard-table  that  is  the 
chief  furniture  of  that  apartment ;  and  his  daughter 
Mrs.  De  Witt,  still  sleeping  in  her  dressing-room,  or 
trying  to  ;  but  her  sleep  is  troubled  with  her  gorgeous 
dreams. 

But  what  are  we  to  do  ?  For  it  is  only  eight  o'clock ; 
just  after  dinner-time,  and  we  cannot  think  of  going 
yet.  We  have  four  long  hours  before  us  ;  where  shall 
we  go  to  spend  the  evening  ?  We  cannot  call  upon 
our  friends  ;  no  one  of  them  will  beat  home  to-night. 
Gracie,  to  be  sure,  might  be  in  ;  for  her  dress  is  but  a 
simple  one,  and  takes  but  little  time  of  her  one  maid, 


396  First  Harvests.    . 

who  then  hurries  away  to  be  an  extra  aid  to  Mamie ; 
and  Grade  will  dress  her  hair  herself,  and  she  is  now 
reading  to  her  aunt  and  uncle.  In  a  few  moments 
she  will  go  up  to  help  Mamie,  who  is  terribly  excited, 
with  cheeks  all  flushed  already,  and  eyes  of  a  feverish 
brightness.  Mamie  has  such  good  reason,  though,  that 
we  can  hardly  wonder  :  she  has  made  up  her  mind 
that  she  will  take  the  first  opportunity  to  see  Mr.  Der- 
went,  and  give  him  his  dismissal.  Thus  may  she  keep 
her  word,  and  still  be  free  to  say — what  shall  she  say, 
when  she  goes  off  with  Mr.  Townley,  late  in  the  even- 
ing, no  doubt,  to  some  fragrant  nook,  just  beyond  the 
range  of  voices,  but  murmurous  with  distant  music 
and  curtained  with  rare  flowers  ?  What  the  impulse 
of  the  moment  bids  her,  no  doubt  ; — she  might  refuse 
him — but  it  would  be  so  nice  to  have  the  greatest  ball 
of  the  century  marked  by  one  such  scene.  She  means 
to  be  the  leading  "  bud"  at  the  ball,  besides  ;  and  can- 
not spare  all  of  those  epochal  moments,  even  for  her 
lover. 

John  Haviland,  too,  is  in  ;  but  he  is  sitting  in  his 
study  with  a  pipe,  and  hard  at  work ;  at  least,  he  is 
trying  to  be  hard  at  work,  that  he  may  keep  his  mind 
at  rest.  He  is  on  some  political  subject,  writing  an 
argument  to  serve  with  them  who  make  laws  for  us  at 
Albany ;  but  it  seems  as  hard  to  get  them  to  take 
their  functions  seriously  as  it  was  with  any  Charles 
Stuart ;  moreover,  the  subject  is  a  dry  one,  concerning 
only  the  ultimate  welfare  of  indefinite  numbers,  and 
there  is  a  small  number,  lobbyists,  who  are  sure  to 
meet  him  there  with  arguments  ad  homines  and  num- 


Duval  Ball.  397 

bers  much  more  definite.  So  his  mind  still  turns  from 
these  abstractions  to  the  girl  he  loves  and  whom  he 
thinks  that  he  shall  lose  forever,  this  same  night. 
Nevertheless  it  is  right  that  he  shall  do  it ;  for  he  has 
lost  all  hope  of  Arthur,  now. 

But  to  Arthur  himself,  this  is  a  red-letter  day. 
Not  only  that  he  looks  forward  with  some  of  Mamie's 
eagerness  to  the  great  ball,  where  he  is  to  lead  the 
cotillon — such  homage  is  already  paid  his  eminence 
and  begins  so  soon  to  bore — he  has  more  solid  cause 
for  his  content  than  that.  This  day — this  second  of 
January — he  has  severed  his  subordinate  connection 
with  the  house  of  Townley  &  Tamms,  and  gone  in,  as 
junior  partner,  with  the  new  firm  of  Duval  &  De  Witt, 
who,  now  that  he  has  capital,  naturally  wishes  to 
make  more.  Poor  Arthur  has  little  capital,  and  he 
has  some  debts ;  but  he  is  allowed  to  put  in  what  he 
has,  and  his  experience,  and  may  draw  five  thousand 
a  year  as  a  maximum,  from  the  firm.  On  this,  for 
the  present,  he  can  live  quite  comfortably;  seeking, 
meanwhile,  the  other  fruits  of  success,  that  in  due 
time  he  may  enjoy  them,  as  his  own. 

It  was  pleasant  to  walk  by  the  old  shop,  which  he 
had  entered  almost  as  an  office-boy,  and  see  Charlie 
Townley,  his  former  mentor,  sitting  there  alone ; 
looking  a  bit  troubled,  too,  as  Arthur  thought.  He 
had  stopped  in  and  smoked  a  cigar  with  him  the  day 
before ;  Tamms  was  not  there,  and  Charlie  had 
seemed  distrait,  and  complained  of  having  had  to 
work  all  that  New  Year's  day  upon  the  balance- 
sheet. 


398  First  Harvests. 

It  is  nine  o'clock  now,  but  we  have  two  or  three 
hours  yet  to  wait.  If  we  have  seen  all  the  friends  we 
care  about  who  are  invited,  suppose  we  look  in  on 
some  of  our  acquaintance  who  are  not  ?  There  is 
James  Starbuck,  for  instance  ;  he  is  to  be  found  in  the 
little  back  apartment  on  Sixth  Avenue,  where  he  pre- 
tends that  his  sister  still  lives,  though  she  does  not, 
and  he  has  not  seen  her  since  that  day  at  the  race. 
The  name  Rose  Marie  is  yet  on  the  door  ;  and  James 
has  written  many  a  letter,  beseeching,  imploring,  per- 
haps. He  does  not  like  to  supplicate;  nor,  perhaps, 
does  Jenny  like  to  be  sermonized ;  and  her  pretty 
head  is  now  full  of  envy  that  she  can  never  go  to  the 
great  Duval  ball,  which  she  has  been  reading  of  so 
much  in  the  papers.  And  many  another  pretty  girl 
has  read  of  it  in  the  papers,  too,  by  many  a  comforta- 
ble fireside ;  though  Wemyss  perhaps  would  call  it  a 
middle-class  one ;  and  learned  there  were  "  high 
people "  in  this  country,  too.  But  James  and  his 
friends  have  been  discussing  it ;  and  it  seems  to  them 
an  impudent  taunt  of  the  monopolist,  flaunted  in  the 
face  of  suffering  labor  ;  so  illogical  are  they.  It  hap- 
pens that  this  festivity  comes  just  about  the  end  of 
the  first  century  of  actual  American  independence ; 
and  it  is  very  certain,  at  least,  that  there  have  not 
been  so  many  dollars  spent  on  any  jamboree — as 
Simpson  calls  it — of  all  that  time  before.  But  surely, 
the  harvest  of  a  century  should  be  greater  than  a  one 
year's  crop  in  some  new  and  oppressed  colony  ?  And 
the  Duval  fortune,  made  from  a  nation's  hair-oil  and 
cosmetics,  and  multiplied,  when  welded  to  the  mace 


The  Duval  Ball.  399 

of  capital,  in  a  hundred  corporations,  has  but  grown 
in  proportion. 

But  Starbuck  is  but  telling  them  that  these  inert 
millions  represent  a  greater  tyranny  than  my  lord 
duke  of  York's  ;  and  that  the  experiment  of  a  repub- 
lic has  been  tried  for  just  a  hundred  years  and  failed. 
Starbuck  is  very  bitter  to-night  and  inclined  to  look 
upon  things  from  their  darkest  side. 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "  they  have  gone  back  like 
whipped  curs  to  the  very  outward  forms  of  the  tyranny 
they  broke  away  from." — (Starbuck  has  been  educa- 
ting himself  lately,  hoping  that  he  might  be  fit  com- 
pany for  his  sister ;  and  he  spoke  at  all  times  much 
better  English  than  does  Mr.  Tamms.)  "  It  is  as  if 
they  said,  '  Yes,  we  have  had  our  fling,  and  we  broke 
away  from  lords  and  bishops  and  aristocracies  and 
lords  of  the  soil ;  and  we  were  all  wrong,  and  now  we 
want  again  our  powdered  flunkies  and  our  my  lord 
this  and  that,  and  our  coats-of-arms,  and  our  daughters 
want  to  marry  foreign  princes,  and  our  wives  would 
like  to  be  fast  women  of  the  court  again,  and  our  boys 
hunt  foxes  and  have  their  poaching  laws;  and  we 
ourselves  would  like  to  rule  at  Washington  ?  Why, 
a  man  who  owns  a  railroad  is  really  a  bigger,  stronger 
lord  than  any  feudal  baron !  " 

"  That's  all  very  pretty ;  but  we'd  like  to  see  a 
little  less  talk  from  you,  an'm  suthin'  done,"  said 
Simpson,  who  had  been  drinking  almost  more  than 
usual. 

"Shut  your  mouth,"  said  James.  "You'll  see 
something  done  before  you're  much  older.  For  one, 


400  First  Harvests. 

I'm  opposed  to  scarin'  people  much,  before  we're 
ready  to  really  act  and  smash  everything  at  once." 

"  That's  damned  fine  talk,  but  you  ain't  boss,  you 
know,"  sneered  Simpson. 

"  Boss  or  not,  I  don't  know  as  I've  got  any  more 
stomach  for  one  kind  of  a  mastery  than  another — 
whether  they  call  'emselves  reds  and  internationalists, 
or  employers  of  labor !  What  do  you  suppose  the 
G.  M.  G.  wants  anyhow  ?  Fireworks — nothin'  but 
fireworks." 

"  Well,  but  what's  the  use  o'  goin'  so  far  ?  "  said 
another  man,  pacifically.  "  We  can  take  a  job  where 
we  like — we've  liberty,  anyhow." 

"  Liberty  ! "  cried  James.  "  So's  a  horse  his  oats. 
They've  got  the  mines,  an'  the  mills,  an'  they  fix  the 
wages,  an'  we've  got  to  live  in  the  company's  tene- 
ments, an'  pay  the  company's  rents,  an'  get  up  to  the 
whistle,  an'  wash  our  daughters'  faces  when  we're  bid  ; 
and  if  we  don't  like  it,  the  company'll  import  a  lot 
of  dirt-eating  foreigners ,  but  we've  got  to  pay  our 
rent,  just  the  same.  And  all  that  these  fellers,  who 
ain't  no  better  than  we  are,  can  have  a  good  time  and 
drink  champagne  at  breakfast.  I've  had  enough  of 
republics  and  democracies ;  an'  I  tell  you  we  don't 
want  any  kind  of  'ocracy  but  just  nothin'  at  all  !  " 

"  H — 1  ! "  snarled  Simpson,  who  had  listened  with 
impatience  to  Starbuck's  speech.  "  They  ain't  no 
different  from  what  we  are ;  you  were  a  boss  yourself 
until  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  then  you  sang  a  different 
tune."  (It  was  true  that  Starbuck  had  lately  been 
discharged,  for  his  complicity  in  the  mining  strike.) 


The  Duval  Ball.  401 

"  You'd  like  ter  be  a  swell,  like  the  rest  of  'em,  and 
your  sister's  just  the  same." 

Starbuck  compressed  his  pale  lips,  and  his  mouth 
worked  violently.  "  Don't  you  talk  of  my  sister," 
said  he. 

"  Naw,"  said  Simpson,  "  we  ain't  to  talk  of  your 
fine  sister  ;  and  yet  we  all  know  that  you're  livin'  here 
on  what  she  makes  outside — Eh  ?  " 

For  Starbuck  had  thrown  himself  upon  him  with 
an  open  knife ;  and  driven  the  blade  well  into  his 
side.  Simpson  fell,  and  the  others,  clasping  Starbuck 
by  the  body,  sought  to  drag  him  away ;  but  his  right 
arm  still  was  disengaged,  clenching  the  open  blade, 
and  with  it  he  was  sawing  viciously  at  Simpson's 
wrist. 

Starbuck  was  the  weakest  man  of  all ;  but  when  he 
was  at  last  torn  away,  the  other's  cries  had  ceased, 
and  he  was  lying  huddled  in  the  pool  of  blood,  with 
a  hiccough  in  his  pallid  throat. 

Starbuck  stood  looking  at  him,  panting  ;  while  the 
others  bent  over  him,  and  tried  to  lift  him  to  the  bed. 
"  You'll  swing  for  this  night's  work,  Jem  Starbuck," 
said  one. 

"  I  think  not,"  said  another.  "  The  first  dig  didn't 
go  very  deep  ;  and  these  flesh-wounds  ain't  no  account. 
Get  away  from  here,  Jem,  before  the  cops  get  wind 
of  it." 

And  they  pushed  James  Starbuck  roughly,  but 
with  hands  still  friendly,  out  into  the  winter's  night. 

But  it  is  after  eleven  o'clock  ;  and  now  we  must 
hurry,  if  we  would  be  in  time  for  the  ball. 
26 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

THE  DUVAL  BALL,  CONCLUDED. 

(HE-  carriage  had  been  in  waiting  some  half 
an  hour;  the  coachman,  who  could  not 
leave  his  horses,  was  swearing  upon  the 
box,  while  the  footman  sought  the  shelter 
of  the  area  door;  the  deep  snow  which  had  begun 
the  afternoon  still  lay  heaped  in  chance  places,  while 
the  rain,  descending  in  straight  lines,  made  scattered 
pools  of  slush  and  water,  visible  when  they  happened 
to  reflect  the  wet  shining  of  the  corner  lamp-post, 
at  other  times  a  perilous  pit  for  horses'  steps  and 
men's. 

But  Flossie  sat  still  in  the  rose  light  of  her  own  and 
inmost  room  :  her  husband  was  away,  and  her  quilted 
sortie  de  bal  lay  ready  on  the  lounge  beside  her.  Not 
softer  it  than  her  white  shoulders ;  and  even  in  the 
face  their  owner  looked  marvellously  young  for  her 
age. 

She  rose  and  drew  the  satin  cloak  around  her ;  it 
was  of  the  very  faintest,  palest,  wood-bud  green,  mak- 
ing strange  harmony  with  her  ashen  hair;  and  she 
walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out  into  the  inhos- 
pitable night.  Then — and  without  the  final  glance 


The  Duval  Ball,   Concluded.          403 

at  the  mirror  that  all  women  are  said  to  give — she 
rang  the  bell,  and  followed  by  her  maid  went  down 
the  stairs  alone.  The  indoor  servants,  with  huge  um- 
brellas, helped  her  to  the  carriage — so  silly  was  it,  as 
Flossie  had  always  told  her  husband,  for  the  house  to 
have  no  porte-cochere — and  the  carriage  lurched  off, 
through  the  heaps  of  yet  white  snow,  careening  and 
sinking  in  the  pools  of  rain. 

But  Mrs.  Gower's  company  is  dull  to-night ;  we 
may  leave  the  ball  with  her,  but  we  will  not  go.  Her 
eyes  are  jaded  with  such  sights  ;  let  us  escort  some 
brighter  ones,  and  gayer  spirits,  and  hearts  more  fresh 
to  all  impression.  Such  an  one  was  Mamie's ;  and 
prettily  encased  it  was,  in  her  glove-like  waist  that 
seemed  without  a  wrinkle  and  made  of  whitest  kid, 
over  which  her  shoulders  peeped  more  snowy,  and 
from  which  streamed  a  frothy  train  of  rippling — illu- 
sion, do  they  call  it  ?  Gracie  had  been  down  some 
time,  with  the  old  people,  when  she  rippled  like  the 
springtime,  down  the  stairs,  with  her  arch  eyes  danc- 
ing and  her  cheeks  encarnadine.  Gracie's  beauty,  to 
be  sure,  was  greater  still ;  only  somehow,  you  did  not 
look  at  it  at  first ;  it  was  but  part  of  her,  like  the  sky 
of  some  fair  country. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Livingstone  looked  down  en  Mamie, 
though,  with  the  happy  pride  of  being  parents  to  such 
a  poem  ;  they  were  much  too  old  to  go  to  balls,  and 
so  some  married  cousin  had  been  found  to  matronize 
them.  Miss  Brevier  alone  noted  Mamie's  heightened 
color  and  evident  excitement ;  but  thought  it  due  to 
her  first  ball  alone ;  and  the  old  people  kissed  her 


404  First  Harvests. 

and  complimented  her,  and  gave  her  obsolete  advice, 
and  sent  her  off  so  proudly — to  the  choice,  as  some 
might  say,  of  two  adventurers. 

Gracie  and  Mamie  came  down  and  took  their  first 
timid  look  at  the  ball  from  a  sort  of  ante-room,  that 
was  one  of  the  ball-rooms  and  was  yet  so  near  the 
dressing-room  as  to  grant  a  hesitating  woman  locus 
p&nitentice,  and  not  commit  her  finally  to  the  floor. 
That  first  glance  at  the  ball-room ;  tell  me  whom  you 
see  in  it,  and  whom  you  don't  see,  and  I  can  tell  you, 
gipsy-like,  much  of  those  bodies  whose  orbits  bode 
entanglement  to  yours.  Thus  it  chanced  that  Gracie 
saw  Haviland  and  Arthur ;  and  both  saw  Mrs. 
Gower;  and  Mamie  noted  that  she  did  not  see  either 
Charlie  Townley  or  Mr.  Derwent.  I  fancy  that  none 
of  our  three  heroines  will  tell  us  much  about  the 
party,  to-night — at  least,  we  shall  learn  rather  what 
people  said  than  how  they  looked  and  what  they 
wore — but  I  may  tell  the  reader  confidentially  that 
were  it  not  for  this,  we  had  not  come.  For  may  he 
not  read,  in  to-morrow's  papers,  all  about  the  flowers, 
and  the  servants,  and  the  music,  and  the  wines — aye, 
and  the  people  who  came,  and  how  they  looked, 
and  all  that  may  be  known  about  the  women's 
dresses  ? 

Both  fell  to  indifferent  cavaliers,  at  first ;  that  is, 
Mamie  to  John  Haviland,  with  whom  she  had  no 
sympathy,  and  Gracie  to  Mr.  Kill  Van  Kull,  who,  be- 
ing a  gentleman,  though  a  wicked  one,  had  the  grace 
most  reverently  to  like  her. 

John  stood  with  Mamie  in  the  first  or  outer  room, 


The  Duval  Ball,   Concluded.         405 

wishing  to  be  with  her,  yet  knowing  not  exactly  what 
to  say.  He  could  not  feed  this  young  butterfly  on 
thought ;  and  yet  she  was  too  bright  for  common- 
places ;  and  then,  he  knew  her  yet  so  slightly!  And 
indeed  she  had  not  fluttered  through  a  season  yet ; 
and  butterflies  take  knowing  best  in  autumn.  So 
Mamie  thought  him  dull ;  and,  all  the  time,  that  was 
in  his  mind  which  had  made  her  start  to  hear.  John's 
interest  was  but  vicarious,  yet,  through  Gracie's — and 
he  was  well  assured  that  Charlie  would  not  come. 
But  we  old  fellows  of  a  dozen  winters,  who  talk  to 
girls  at  their  first  ball — what  chance  have  our  stale 
cynicisms  with  the  pretty  ear  by  our  side,  when  its 
pretty  eyes  companions  are  looking  for  that  young 
fellow  with  the  incipient  mustache,  who  means 
shortly  to  tell  her  (when  our  Heaviness  has  only  left 
her) — that  she  is  the  only  person  in  all  his  long  life 
long  that  he  has  really  ever  loved.  Throwing  over  at 
once  his  nurse  and  his  governess,  as  we  may,  with  our 
caustic  wit,  remark ;  and  we  go  to  Mrs.  Gower ;  she 
will  not  repulse  us ;  she  will  understand  us,  and  make 
our  seasoned  hearts  beat  fast  again. 

So,  after  John  has  danced  once  with  Mamie,  she 
happens  to  feel  tired  before  a  certain  dark  corner; 
and  there  Lionel  Derwent  is  standing  alone,  torturing 
his  tawny  mustache.  He  has  to  speak  to  her ;  and 
then  it  happens  that  these  two  drop  aside  from  the 
whirling  circle — and  Haviland  is  left  alone  upon  its 
brink.  He  watches  it  for  a  minute,  as  Dante  did 
Francesca's.  It  is  a  smaller  circle ;  it  is  not  "  mute  of 
any  light,"  nor  does  Minos  stand  there  " 


406  First  Harvests. 

and  grin — unless  fat  old  Tony  Duval  may  do  duty 
for  the  same,  with  his  unctuous  swarthy  face,  like  some 
head- waiter  on  the  boulevard — but  how  much  "  pih 
dolor  " — or  less  dolor — it  girdles  than  the  outer  world, 
is  John  then  wondering.  And  there  he  saw  "  Seniir- 
amls,  di  cui  si  Icgge — "  many  things,  no  doubt,  and 
triumphant  young  Mrs.  De  Witt,  Anadyomene  ;  and 
Lady  X.,  and  the  Countess  of  Z.,  and  "  Cleopatras  his- 
suriosa"  and  Mrs.  Flossie  Gower;  "Elena  vidi — e 
V  grande  AcJiille — Paris,  Tristano,  e  piii  di  millc — 
and  borne  before,  most  light  in  all  the  waltz,  Miss 
Farnum  with  Van  Kull.  She  caught  his  eye  one  mo- 
ment, as  she  floated  by,  and  his  own  fell. 

But  Derwent  gave  Miss  Livingstone  his  arm,  and 
went — or  suffered  himself  to  be  led  by  her — to  a  place 
of  fragrant  flowers  and  broad  shadowy  leaves.  It  was 
quite  what  Mamie  had  imagined  ;  and  yet  she  blushed 
to  feel  how  pale  she  was,  and  then  felt  all  the  color 
leave  again  as  her  heart  beat ;  and  then  blushed  again 
to  feel  it  beat  so  near  his  strong  arm.  The  poets  have 
told  you  how  a  maiden's  color  comes  and  goes — now 
you  understand  the  process,  quite  in  the  modern 
manner. 

She  had  no  idea  the  feeling  she  would  have  would 
be  like  this,  and  almost  felt  the  inclination  to  tears 
again  ;  but  the  inspiring  strains  of  a  waltz  that  came 
through  the  heavy  curtains  helped  her  out  just  then, 
as  does  a  fiddle  to  a  tragedy-scene  in  a  New  York 
theatre.  So  she  gave  him  his  dismissal  with  much 
courage  ;  and  was  relieved  to  find  that  Derwent  nei- 
ther fumed  nor  fainted. 


The  Duval  Ball,   Concluded.         407 

Meantime  John  Haviland,  growing  tired  of  the 
"  scJiiera  piena  "  in  the  ball-room,  had  left  his  place 
and  wandered  from  the  room,  before  Miss  Farnum  in 
her  turn  came  round  again.  Was  it  lack  of  tact  that 
made  him  enter  the  conservatory — where  so  short  a 
time  before  Miss  Livingstone  and  Lionel  had  gone  ? 
Derwent  looked  up  at  once  and  saw  him  ;  but  Mamie 
gave  a  little  start  that  showed  her  freshness  at  this 
sort  of  thing.  "  I  hope  I  don't  interrupt  an  impor- 
tant conversation"  said  Haviland. 

"  Not  at  all ;  we  were  talking  of  trifles,"  answered 
Derwent,  placidly.  "  Let's  go  down  to  supper." 
Now  for  a  man  who  has  just  had  his  heart  broken  to 
evince  a  desire  for  supper,  was  a  thing  so  new  to  all 
Mamie's  novel-reading  experience  that  she  answered 
with  some  angry  humor  thrat  she  was  not  hungry. 
"  Mr.  Haviland  can  get  me  an  ice,  if  he  likes,"  she 
added.  Just  then,  Gracie  Holyoke  came  in  ;  and  it 
was  poor  John's  heart's  turn  to  beat.  "  I  will  sit 
here  with  Grac — with  Miss  Holyoke," added  Mamie; 
and  John  must  needs  go  get  the  ice,  while  Lionel 
Derwent  stayed  behind.  He  talked  to  Gracie, 
though  ;  while  Mamie  was  wild  to  tell  her  she  had 
so  well  fulfilled  her  promise.  So  she  passed  the  time 
by  looking  about  the  adjacent  ball-room  for  Charlie 
Townley.  Strange  to  say,  she  had  not  yet  seen  him 
anywhere.  Well,  there  was  time  enough;  she  rather 
liked  to  have  the  whole  ball  gone  through  with,  first. 
Perhaps  she  was  foolish  to  get  engaged,  at  her  very 
first  ball.  She  would  give  him  his  dismissal  too; 
that  would  make  two  in  one  evening !  It  was  out- 


408  First  Harvests. 

rageous  in  him  to  leave  her  to  herself  all  through  the 
evening,  even  at  supper-time,  that  most  favored  time 
of  all !  Nay,  I  fear  me,  master  Charles  would  have 
had  but  an  easy  victory,  had  he  made  assault  just 
then. 

But  Charlie  she  did  not  see  in  any  of  the  rooms ; 
and  some  male  individual  in  a  white  waistcoat  and 
catseye  stud,  who  took  her  through  the  rooms  and 
down  to  supper,  even  told  her  that  he  had  not 
come. 

Impossible  !  Had  he  not  sent  her  those  most  par- 
ticular and  private  flowers  that  she  wore,  with  mean- 
ing glances  when  he  asked  her  of  her  dress  and  time  ? 
Had  he  not  as  good  as  told  her,  once  before,  when  he 
had  kissed  her — Poor  Mamie  blushed  with  shame, 
while  her  heart  pulsed  quick  with  fear,  and  her  eyes 
glistened  with  anger — Come,  Charlie,  come  quick; 
and  garner  in  your  lovely  conquest,  ere  it  be  too  late ! 
— But  no  Charlie  comes  through  all  that  ball ;  and 
Mamie  dances  feverishly  with  anybody,  and  flirts  aim- 
lessly with  Howland  Starbuck,  and  is  clever,  witty, 
bright-eyed,  radiant,  irresistible — and  then  goes  to 

Mrs.  F ,  the  chaperone,  with  stories  of  a  headache, 

and  asking  when  she  is  going  home. 

When  John  comes  back  to  the  little  room  with  the 
ice,  Mamie  who  sent  him  for  it  has  gone,  and  Gracie 
Holyoke  and  Derwent  too.  So  he  sate  him  down, 
disconsolate,  amid  the  bed  of  orchids,  screened  by 
quite  a  jungle  of  banana  palms  ;  so  poor,  so  clumsy  a 
pretence  of  happiness  did  all  this  seem  to  him  !  The 
strains  of  the  shallow  music  came  to  him  from  the 


The  Duval  Ball,   Concluded.         409 

distant  ball-room ;  it  was  the  waltz-tune  that  was  the 
rage  that  winter, — 

' '  Oh,  lo-ove  for  a  week — (turn,  tum  ;  rum,  tint,  turn  /) 
"  A  year,  a  day,  (turn  tum  ;  rum,  turn,  tum  /) 

"But  alas  for  the  lo-ove  that  bi-i-deth  alway  !  (turn,  tum  ;  ruin,  tint, 
tum  /) 

John  tried  to  deafen  his  ears  to  the  music,  which 
went  on  despite  him,  like  the  pettiness  of  life.  He 
had  had  but  one  full  look  at  Gracie  Holyoke  that 
night ;  and  that  had  told  him  nothing. 

A  stifling  hot-house  scent  was  in  the  little  room, 
and  John  had  started  up  to  leave  it  when  there  was  a 
rustling  in  the  door-way  and  Kitty  Farnum  stood  be- 
fore him  alone. 

She  had  been  selected  to  take  part  in  the  spectacle 
of  the  evening,  the  much-envied  fancy-dress  minuet, 
after  supper,  that  was  to  open  the  cotillon ;  and  she 
wore  the  rich  red  brocades  of  a  Louis  Quinze  court- 
dress,  her  dense  hair  powdered  white,  and  from  this 
mass  of  blazing  color  rose  haughtily  the  regal  neck 
and  head,  and  the  proud  shoulders,  and  beneath  the 
white  masses  of  her  hair  her  eyes  burned  deeply,  like 
two  violet  stars.  A  sort  of  hush  of  admiration  had 
attended  her  wherever  she  went  that  evening ;  and 
Haviland  had  heard  men  call  her  the  beauty  of  the 
ball. 

Miss  Farnum  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  playing 
with  a  scarlet  orchid  that  was  most  conspicuous  of  all 
among  them  ;  a  noble  figure,  the  very  picture  of  a 
duchess;  and  Haviland,  who  had  risen  at  her  en- 


4io  First  Harvests. 

trance,  facing  her  more  humbly,  and  yet  like  a  gentle- 
man, too. 

"  Mr.  Haviland — my  life  must  be  settled  to-night, 
one  way  or  another:  /am  weary  of  it.  You  once 
were  kind  enough  to  take  some  interest  in  me — am  I 
right  in  supposing  that  I  had  a  friend  in  you  ? '' 

"  Yes,"  said  John.  There  was  an  infinite  respect 
and  pity  in  his  tone;  he  fancied  that  he  knew  what 
had  happened. 

"  Lord  Birmingham  has  just  asked  me  to  become 
his  wife.  Am  I  right  in  thinking  that  you — do  not 
wish  to  be  my  husband  ?'' 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  again.  "  But  oh,  Miss  Farnum 
— when  we  talked  of  this  upon  the  coaching-party, 
you  did  not " 

Miss  Farnum  shook  her  head  slightly,  as  if  to  wave 
aside  her  own  case  from  the  question. 

"  That  you  do  care  for  Miss  Holyoke  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  without  hesitating  ;  but  more  softly 
still. 

"  You  have  chosen  nobly,  Mr.  Haviland."  She 
said  it  simply  and  a  little  sadly ;  and  then  turned  to 

go- 
John  grasped  her  hand  and  detained  it  for  but  one 

second  in  his  own.     "  I  shall  never  win  her,"  said  he. 

"  And  oh,  Miss  Farnum " 

"  No  word  more,"  said  the  other ;  and  then,  gayly, 

"  I  have  better  hopes.     Look  at  me — and  see — and  see 

how  easy  it  is  to  win  a  woman !  "     And  with  a  ripple 

of  light  laughter,  she  was  gone. 

John  sank  back  to  his  seat,  his  head,  already  a  lit- 


The  Duval  Ball,   Concluded.         411 

tie  gray,  resting  on  his  hand.  Kitty  Farnum's  was 
the  nature  he  had  admired  most  of  almost  any  he  had 
ever  seen  :  her  soul  was  individual,  cast  in  that  heroic 
mould  that  almost  seems  forgotten  in  these  days  of 
good  nature,  of  average  adaptability.  And  yet  not 
one  single  air  of  inspiration,  nor  one  ray  of  sympathy 
nor  sunlight  that  came  from  higher  than  the  city's 
dust  had  fallen  on  the  lot  of  this  rich  flower.  Of  all 
humanity,  from  her  vulgar  mother  to  the  silly  part- 
ners of  her  dances,  he  alone  had  said  one  word  of 
truth  to  her ;  and  in  reward  she  had  given  him  her 
heart !  She,  capable  of  being  any  heroine  of  all  the 
full  world's  history;  and  not  one  red-cross  knight  was 
there  to  see  and  save  her,  nor  any  man  with  soul  of 
strength  enough  to  mate  with  hers ;  but  only  this 
titled  barbarian,  who  saw  the  outside  of  her  person 
and  was  pleased. 

But  the  waltz-music  still  came  through  the  fragrant 
fall  of  flowers  that  screened  this  eremite  from  the 
loud-laughing  world ;  and  the  night  was  getting  on. 
He  felt  now  as  if  under  pledge  to  lay  his  heart  that 
night  at  Gracie's  feet  ;  and  went  in  search  of  her. 

He  found  her,  sitting  with  Mamie  Livingstone, 
who  was  out  of  humor  and  who  would  not  dance  ; 
she  was  silent,  with  flushed  face  and  dewy  eyes,  look- 
ing like  some  pouting,  pretty  maid  of  Greuze.  They 
spoke  together  for  some  minutes;  and  then  wise  Li- 
onel Derwent  came  up  and  took  Miss  Mamie  off. 

John  led  Gracie  to  the  deep  embrasure  of  a  win- 
dow ;  below  them,  on  the  polished  floor,  the  famous 
minuet  was  forming  ;  and  all  the  world  looked  on  ex- 


412  First  Harvests. 

pectant.  John  looked  grimly  on  :  he  never  thought 
to  have  said  such  words  in  a  ball-room.  His  very 
hopelessness  gave  him  courage  to  speak  his  deepest 
heart ;  and  it  was  without  a  change  of  manner  when 
he  spoke — at  last. 

She  had  been  speaking  sorrowfully  of  Mamie;  you 
know  the  strange  confidence  that  was  between  these 
two.  "  I  fear  that  she  is  disappointed  that  Mr.  Town- 
ley  has  not  come.  Tell  me  frankly,  Mr.  Haviland — 
do  you  think  there  is  anything  really  wrong  about 
him  ?  Do  you  think  that  he  could  make  Mamie 
happy?  She  will  be  so  alone  in  the  world,  I  am 
afraid,  before  very  long." 

What  could  John  say  ?  There  is  a  law  that  even 
the  meanest  men  abide,  to  speak  no  harm  of  each 
other  to  the  other  sex.  He  hesitated.  "I  think  you 
need  have  no  fear  of  Mr.  Townley,  now,"  he  said,  at 
last.  Derwent  had  told  him  of  the  day  in  Wall  Street. 

Gracie  turned  her  dear  eyes  full  on  his ;  and  then 
the  barriers  of  his  heart  broke  down.  "  But  I  must 
speak  selfishly,  Miss  Holyoke.  I  love  you  with  all 
my  heart — for  all  my  life." 

The  words  had  come  so  naturally,  that  they  had 
passed  among  the  spoken  words  of  memory,  and 
ceased — before  Gracie  started  and  the  color  left  her 
cheeks.  She  had  not  dreamed  of  this ;  she  had  not 
kept,  herself,  the  lesson  she  had  given  Mamie ;  and 
then  she  blamed  herself  for  having  been  too  much 
wrapped  up  in  her  own  heart  history.  "  ()  Mr. 
Haviland,"  she  said ;  "  forgive  me ;  I  never  thought 
of  this." 


The  Duval  Ball,   Concluded.         413 

She  was  crying ;  John's  voice  was  husky,  and  he 
did  not  trust  himself  to  speak,  but  looked  across  the 
brilliant  room.  The  minuet  was  being  danced ;  and 
just  in  front  was  Kitty  Farnum,  looking  as  if  radiant 
with  the  triumph  of  the  night.  She  was  walking  the 
minuet  with  Arthur  Holyoke  ;  who  was  brilliant  in  a 
velvet  court-dress,  with  a  sparkling  sword  ;  and  op- 
posite was  Birmingham,  dancing  with  Mrs.  De  Witt, 
but  with  eyes  for  her  alone.  The  other  figures  in  the 
dance  were  Mrs.  Malgam,  Mrs.  Levison-Gower,  Kil- 
lian  Van  Kull  and  Caryl  Wemyss. 

John  turned  his  eyes  to  hers  again.  "  You  care  for 
Arthur  ?  " 

Many  women  would  have  thought  he  had  no  right 
to  ask  the  question ;  but  Gracie's  was  too  true  a  life 
for  this. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  clearly. 

"  Forgive  me,"  answered  John,  humbly.  And 
Grade  knew  that  he  was  still  her  friend  ;  and  Ar- 
thur's too. 

And  so,  no  more  was  said  between  them ;  and 
when,  the  minuet  was  finished,  Gracie  and  poor 
Mamie  went  home  together  and  Lionel  Derwent 
went  away  with  John.  Mamie  tore  the  flower  from 
her  breast,  and  threw  herself  upon  her  bed  in  a  burst 
of  tears  ;  and  Gracie  sat  with  her  till  the  streaks  of 
dawn  appeared. 

But  Flossie  and  Kitty  Farnum  still  danced  on, 
imtired  ;  and  all  men  were  divided  which  of  these 
had  been  the  queen  of  the  famous  ball.  Already  had 


414  First  Harvests. 

the  business  of  the  work-day  world  begun  when 
Flossie  took  her  leave,  and  went  back  to  the  dressing- 
room,  and  put  on  her  satin  cloak,  and  came  down  the 
grand  staircase,  looking  strangely  brilliant,  younger 
than  ever,  people  said,  with  her  blazing  diamonds 
and  not  one  ribbon  out  of  place  about  her  perfect 
dress.  She  went  down  the  carpeted  pavilion,  Caryl 
Wemyss  putting  the  ermine  sortie  de  bal  with  careful 
touch  about  her  shoulders. 

No  one  but  a  policeman  and  a  little  crowd  of  street 
boys  saw  them  go,  as  she  got  quickly  into  Caryl 
Wemyss's  carriage  and  drove  off. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

SORTIE   DU   BAL. 

|HE  rain,  that  had  come  after  the  snow,  had 
ceased  in  its  turn,  blown  clear,  like  some 
light  curtain,  by  a  blast  of  northwest 
wind.  Mr.  Wemyss,  as  he  entered  the 
carriage,  had  ventured  to  lift  her  hand  once  to  his 
lips ;  and  then  they  both  sat  silent,  Flossie  looking 
thoughtfully  out  of  the  carriage  window,  her  com- 
panion on  the  front  seat  looking  at  her. 

It  was  already  freezing ;  for  the  horses  dragged 
them  heavily  through  the  crackling  snow  ;  and  Flos- 
sie could  see  that  the  pools  of  water  in  the  street 
were  already  needle-pointed  with  the  forming  ice. 
As  they  passed  the  cross-streets,  she  noticed  a  ruddy 
reflection  on  the  face  of  these.  "  Can  that  be  dawn 
already  ?  "  She  let  down  the  window  ;  and,  looking 
out,  saw  all  the  east  a  lowering,  lurid  red. 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  said  Mr.  Wemyss.  "  'Tis 
hardly  six  o'clock.  It  must  be  some  great  fire  at 
Brooklyn,  or  at  Williamsburgh." 

They  stopped  at  Mrs.  Gower's  house  ;  and  request- 
ing, or  rather,  ordering,  Mr.  Wemyss  to  stay  in  the 
carriage,  she  ran  lightly  up  the  steps  and  let  herself 
in.  All  the  servants  had  gone  to  bed,  by  Mrs.  Gow- 


416  First  Harvests. 

er's  orders ;  save  Justine,  her  maid,  who  was  sitting 
waiting,  with  one  candle,  in  the  hall. 

"  Is  everything  ready,  Justine  ?  " 

"Oui,  madame,"  said  the  maid  ;  who  had  been  told 
that  her  mistress  was  about  to  make  a  sudden  trip  to 
Boston,  and  had  discreetly  asked  no  unnecessaiy 
questions;  her  perquisites  had  been  very  handsome 
lately. 

Flossie  went  up  to  her  room,  the  maid  attending 
her ;  and  laid  aside  her  ball-dress  and  her  diamonds. 
Then  she  had  a  woman's  humor;  and  notwithstand- 
ing that  Mr.  Wemyss  was  waiting  cold  outside,  she 
threw  the  satin  cloak  once  more  over  her  bare  shoul- 
ders and  wandered,  with  a  lighted  candle,  all  through 
the  house.  She  went  into  the  great  ball-room  which 
seemed  gaunt  and  bare ;  then  into  the  dark  dining- 
room  with  its  carved  oak  wood  and  its  array  of  armor 
and  of  silver  plate ;  then  into  the  parlors  where  she 
had  held  her  first  reception — how  well  she  remem- 
bered it,  and  her  triumph  over  the  great  ladies  Van 
Kull  and  the  fine  ladies  Brevier ! — and  last  to  the  lit- 
tle suite  of  rooms  which  she  had  occupied  when  first 
she  came  back  from  her  wedding-journey.  Poor  Lu- 
cie!  She  wondered  if  he  would  really  mind  much. 

When  she  got  back  to  the  great  apartment  she 
occupied  now,  the  gray  dawn  was  stealing  in  through 
the  huge  windows  and  the  cold  of  the  change  of 
weather  was  already  in  the  house.  She  shivered ; 
and  hastened  to  get  dressed.  Justine  was  all  ready 
with  a  quiet  travelling-dress,  into  which  she  quickly 
slipped  her  girlish  figure.  She  had  a  moment's  scru- 


Sortie  du  Bal.  417 

pie  whether  she  should  take  away  the  diamonds — a 
riviere  that  Lucie  Gower  had  given  her  when  they 
were  married.  But  Flossie  Gower  had  far  too  logical 
a  mind  to  strain  at  gnats  when  she  was  swallowing  a 
camel ;  she  hastily  thrust  them  in  her  bosom,  and  giv- 
ing the  solitary  candle  to  Justine,  bade  her  lead  the 
way  down  the  stairs.  This  time  she  wasted  no  parting 
looks  ;  after  all,  the  house  was  hers,  though  she  would 
leave  it  to  Lucie  for  a  while,  for  form's  sake. 

It  was  already  quite  light  in  the  street,  and  Mr. 
Wemyss  was  huddled  in  one  corner  of  the  carriage 
and  chattering  with  cold.  He  made  no  reproach, 
however  ;  and  this  time  he  got  in  beside  her,  and  Jus- 
tine took  the  front  seat. 

"  Where  are  we  going  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Gower  to  him. 

"  I  thought  perhaps  you  would  come — I  have  a  lit- 
tle breakfast  ready  in  my  rooms — the  train  does  not 
go  till  eight."  He  spoke,  for  the  first  time  we  have 
heard  him,  with  some  shadow  of  embarrassment.  "  I 
thought  it  would  be  less  public,"  he  explained. 

"  As  you  like,"  said  Flossie,  indifferently.  What 
did  it  matter  ?  Her  bonnet  must  yet  be  thrown  over 
higher  wind-mills  than  was  this. 

They  drove  across  the  town  in  silence.  Flossie,  at 
least,  had  done  many  things  in  her  life  and  not  known 
the  sickly  shadow  of  repentance  yet ;  what  Mr.  We- 
myss's  thoughts  were  1  cannot  say.  Justine  alone, 
indeed,  was  repenting — that  she  had  not  known  of 
this  before  she  left  the  house,  and  acted  on  that 
knowledge.  "  Que  de  cJwses  faurais  pu  prendre 
avec  !  "  she  thought. 
27 


4i 8  First  Harvests. 

"When  do  we  sail  ?"  asked  Flossie,  languidly. 

"  To-morrow  noon,"  answered  Mr.  Wemyss.  "  The 
Boston  steamer  is  much  the  best  for  us  ;  particularly 
at  this  season  of  the  year.  They  go  almost  empty, 
and  are  not  crowded  with  commercial  travellers." 

.Mrs.  Gower's  lip  curled  slightly;  whether  at  Mr. 
Wemyss's  refined  exclusiveness  or  for  some  other 
reason,  we  dare  not  say.  And  the  carriage  stopped 
before  his  lodgings. 

Mr.  Wemyss  got  out,  and  helped  his  Europa  to 
alight.  "  You  may  come  up,  Justine,"  said  Flossie  to 
the  maid,  who  had  retained  her  seat  demurely. 

Mr.  Wemyss  led  the  way  to  his  rooms  and  Flossie 
looked  about  her  curiously.  The  apartment  was  full 
of  old  china,  books,  and  rare  bronzes  that  showed  its 
owner's  cultivated  tastes ;  a  sort  of  studio  led  off  from 
the  dining-room,  and  in  it  were  many  samples  of  Mr. 
Wemyss's  art ;  most  prominent  among  them  a  large 
portrait  of  Flossie  Gower  herself,  painted  from  mem- 
ory, and  not  over  good  as  a  likeness.  Flossie  remarked 
upon  it ;  and  Mr.  Wemyss  made  some  speech  about 
not  needing  the  shrine  now  that  the  divinity  was 
there.  And  as  he  said  it,  Justine  not  having  gone 
into  the  studio  with  them,  he  made  bold  to  clasp  her 
in  his  arms.  Flossie  repelled  him ;  and  with  some 
muttered  words  about  getting  a  cup  of  coffee  for  her, 
he  left  the  room  ;  not  quite  so  gracefully  as  usual. 

Flossie  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
The  room  was  very  high  ;  and  the  whole  cityful  of 
brick  roofs  and  spires  and  factory  chimneys  lay  brood- 
ing in  their  own  foul  breath  of  smoke.  Flossie  had  a 


Sortie  du  Bal.  419 

momentary  feeling  that  the  climax  of  her  life  had 
fallen  beneath  her  expectation,  like  the  rest. — Far  off, 
on  either  side,  a  clearer  stratum  of  air  marked  the 
course  of  the  two  rivers  ;  and  to  the  eastward  were 
some  saffron  streaks  of  winter  morning.  These  faded 
to  the  left,  in  an  ominous  brown  cloud  of  smoke, 
beneath  which  still,  in  the  distance,  licked  some  silent 
tongues  of  fire. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  terrible  fire,"  said  Wemyss's 
voice  behind  her  carelessly.  "  But  the  breakfast  is 
ready,  such  as  it  is  ;  will  you  not  come,  dearest  ?  " 

Flossie  went  back  with  him,  and  found  a  table 
spread  with  coffee,  cold  partridges,  and  grapes.  Jus- 
tine remained  there,  for  propriety's  sake.  In  a  few 
minutes  they  were  ready;  and  going  down,  she  found 
another  carriage  waiting.  Wemyss  gave  his  orders, 
and  they  drove  to  the  railroad  station.  It  looked 
curiously  common-place  and  familiar ;  it  might  have 
been  the  most  respectable  of  quiet  journeys  !  Flossie 
abhorred  respectability. 

Mr.  Wemyss  had  a  compartment  ready  in  the  car, 
with  all  imaginable  ordinary  luxuries  of  travel ;  he 
even  got  a  bundle  of  the  morning  papers,  which  Flos- 
sie did  not  read.  She  was  tired  of  the  sight  of  an 
American  newspaper,  and  never  wished  to  look  at  one 
again. 

Wemyss  looked  a  little  furtively  about  the  plat- 
forms and  then  walked  through  the  train  ;  and  came 
back  and  told  her  there  was  no  one  that  they  knew 
on  board.  Flossie  would  not  have  cared  much  if 
there  had  been. 


420  First  Harvests. 

A  boy  came  through,  crying  the  last  new  novels. 
Flossie  shook  her  head.  What  were  such  insipid 
stories  to  the  drama  of  her  life  ?  Mr.  Wemyss  care- 
fully closed  the  door,  and  began  to  make  himself 
agreeable,  much  as  he  might  have  done  at  a  party, 
except  that  he  talked  more  tenderly.  Would  the 
train  never  start  ?  She  yawned  a  little.  For  a  mo- 
ment, she  half  wished  it  h&d  been  Kill  Van  Kull. 

At  last  a  bell  sounded,  and  the  train  rumbled  slowly 
out  of  the  station. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  NIGHT   AT  THE   WORKS. 

HEN  Jem  Starbuck,  that  evening,  had 
been  thrust  out  by  his  friends,  and  the 
door  he  heard  slammed  and  bolted  be- 
hind him,  he  found  himself  upon  Sixth 
Avenue,  at  midnight  of  a  night  so  inclement  that  even 
that  thoroughfare  was  almost  deserted.  The  trains 
of  the  elevated  railway  went  thundering  over  his 
head,  but  the  floor  of  the  street  was  checkered  with 
the  drifts  of  wet  snow  and  the  pools  of  water,  in 
which  the  mirrored  gaslights  glimmered  a  warning  to 
the  unwary  step. 

The  rain  had  at  this  time  stopped ;  it  was  the 
hour's  lull  before  the  downrush  of  the  clearing  north- 
wester ;  and  the  flooded  gutters  still  ran  riotously  and 
poured  into  the  sewer-gates  with  a  roaring  that  was 
audible  a  block  or  more  away. 

Starbuck  walked  some  streets  without  conscious 
object.  His  heart  beat  violently  with  the  struggle 
still,  and  he  felt  sick  and  faint  with  the  passion  of  his 
anger.  Remorse  he  had  none ;  but  he  was  ashamed 
at  having  gone  so  far ;  at  having  held  himself  in  no 
better  control.  Yet  why  had  Simpson  dared  to  talk 
to  him  ?  "  Damn  the  fool,  I  wish  I'd  killed  him," 
thought  James. 


422  First  Harvests. 

He  spoke  the  words  aloud  ;  and,  as  he  did  so,  came 
to  a  street  corner  ;  the  crossing  was  exceptionally  deep 
with  melted  snow,  and  on  the  other  corner  stood  a 
policeman.  Starbuck  became  conscious  that  he  still 
held  the  bloody  knife ;  there  was  a  sewer-opening  be- 
low him,  and  he  threw  it  in.  The  rush  of  water  was 
so  great  that  it  was  gulped  down  without  a  sound, 
disappearing  instantly  in  the  turbid  vortex.  James 
looked  after  it  a  moment,  moodily ;  he  had  little  fear 
that  he  was  in  any  danger  for  his  deed  of  that  night ; 
beyond  doubt,  the  fellow  was  not  mortally  wounded  ; 
and  he  would  not  dare  to  complain  on  his  own  ac- 
count, and  none  of  their  friends  would  ever  peach. 

He  hesitated  some  moments ;  then,  with  the  de- 
cisive step  of  a  man  who  has  made  up  his  mind,  he 
turned  and  crossed  Sixth  Avenue.  There  was  a  bar- 
room over  the  way,  brilliant  with  a  red  electric  light ; 
he  entered  it,  and  called  for  a  twenty-five  cent  cigar 
and  a  glass  of  whiskey.  He  was  unused  to  drinking 
spirits ;  and  the  sharp  liquor  made  him  shudder  as  he 
swallowed  it ;  but  not  with  cold  or  fear.  The  intel- 
lectual predominated  over  the  physical  in  his  nature: 
such  organisms  are  cowardly  before  immediate  physi- 
cal pain  or  contest,  but  shrink  at  nothing  else.  But 
one  of  his  affectations  had  been  to  smoke  cigars  in- 
stead of  pipes  ;  his  was  a  nature  nervous  as  any  schol- 
ar's ;  and  he  lit  the  black  havana  and  went  out  again, 
taking  his  way  along  Thirty-second  Street. 

Fifth  Avenue  was  less  deserted  than  Sixth ;  it  was 
full  of  carriages  going  to  and  from  the  ball.  It  was 
about  the  hour  when  Flossie  broke  off  her  reverie  in 


The  Night  at  the    Works.  423 

her  boudoir  and,  ringing  for  her  carnage,  walked  to 
her  window  and  looked  out.  James  Starbuck  may 
have  seen  the  rose  light  that  streamed  from  her  win- 
dow ;  in  fact,  he  did,  and  marked  the  brilliancy  of 
this  and  all  the  great  houses  on  the  Avenue,  with  an 
imprecation  on  them  for  it;  but  he  did  not  know 
Flossie  Gower's  house,  nor  much  of  her,  save  that  she 
almost  owned  the  oil  works  over  at  Williamsburgh. 
But  he  stopped  a  moment,  and  looked  up  and  down 
the  fine  street;  it  was  going  to  be  colder,  and  he  fore- 
saw that  the  weather  would  be  terrible  before  dawn, 
though  the  ladies,  well  cottoned  in  their  carriages, 
would  give  no  thought  to  it.  But  the  business  he 
was  on  was  not  so  safe  for  him  at  any  other  time ; 
and  he  buttoned  his  overcoat  about  him  and  walked 
rapidly  down  the  side  street,  just  as  Mrs.  Gower's 
carriage  drove  up  at  her  front  door. 

He  soon  got  beyond  the  respectable  streets,  the 
level  even  rows  of  brown-stone  houses  standing  shoul- 
der to  shoulder  like  well-drilled  servants  in  a  livery  ; 
the  shops  began,  and  the  iron-balconied  tenements, 
and  the  noise  and  sense  of  much  humanity.  The 
many  sins  of  the  pavement  were  charitably  hidden  in 
the  snow ;  but  even  then  there  was  a  smell  about 
the  neighborhood  that  would  have  nauseated  Mrs. 
Gower;  and  even  in  the  middle  of  the  night  there 
was  noise  of  living,  and  an  undertone  of  working 
steam,  throbbing  still,  among  the  sleeping  places  of 
its  human  fellow-laborers.  Nor  were  they  all  asleep  ; 
here  and  there  a  lighted  window,  and  what  we  needs 
must  term  a  sound  of  revelry,  showed  that  some  of 


424  First  Harvests. 

these,  too,  like  their  Fifth  Avenue  superiors,  were 
wakeful  to  the  pleasures  of  the  night. 

But  the  elevated  trains  had  ceased  running,  as  Star- 
buck  crossed  Third  Avenue  :  the  toiling  places  of  the 
human  workmen,  at  least,  were  stilled,  and  these 
were  not  needed  to  take  them  to  and  from  their 
benches  in  the  social  galley.  Mankind — except  in- 
deed the  policemen  or  other  watchers  who  had  to  see 
that  mankind  did  no  mischief  while  it  rested — was 
not  at  work. 

Starbuck  threaded  his  way  through  the  streets 
along  the  river.  The  forges,  to  be  sure,  were  glowing 
brightly  ;  for  Iron  gives  his  servants  no  rest ;  Vulcan 
is  a  lord  who  knows  no  Sabbath ;  he  compels,  unlike 
kindly  Ceres,  from  eve  till  dewy  morn,  from  seed  to 
harvest.  Starbuck  came  to  the  wharves,  heaped  up 
with  coal  mountains,  built  over  with  iron  prisons  for 
the  gas  ;  he  looked  about  him,  cautiously,  for  he  was 
physically  a  coward  and  afraid  of  footpads,  of  the 
lawless  gangs  of  roughs  that  infest  the  wharves.  He 
had  struck  across  the  city  too  directly,  instead  of 
walking  up  Fifth  Avenue,  as  he  should  have  done, 
where  he  felt  safe.  He  started  once  or  twice  in  alarm, 
and  his  heart  took  to  palpitating  again,  as  he  saw  a 
dark  figure  among  the  wharves  ;  but  it  would  be  only 
a  policeman  or  a  watchman,  and  he  breathed  more 
freely ;  and  at  last  he  reached  the  ferry  in  safety. 

He  took  a  seat  in  one  corner  of  the  ladies'  cabin, 
pulling  his  coat-collar  up  over  his  face.  The  boat 
was  not  full ;  but  there  were  a  number  of  people  still 
out,  returning  from  supper  after  the  theatres.  The 


The  Night  at  the    Works.  425 

warm  weather  they  had  had  was  breaking  up  the  ice 
in  the  Sound ;  and  the  paddles  of  the  steamer  went 
crashing  and  grinding  through  the  broken  floes.  Sev- 
eral times  the  wheels  stopped,  as  if  the  pilot  saw  a 
field  of  ice  too  large  to  be  crushed  through.  At  last, 
the  clanking  of  the  chains  told  Starbuck  they  had 
reached  the  dock  upon  the  Brooklyn  side. 

He  waited  until  all  the  other  passengers  had  gone 
ashore.  The  night  had  grown  much  colder;  and  the 
freezing  snow  and  water  crackled  beneath  his  feet. 
On  this  side  the  river,  however,  the  streets  were 
darker,  and  quite  deserted ;  and  not  one  lighted  win- 
dow broke  the  high  brick  housewalls  that  closed 
about  him  on  either  side. 

The  effect  of  the  unaccustomed  dram  of  spirit  had 
quite  left  him  by  this  time;  he  threw  open  his  coat 
for  a  moment,  to  light  another  cigar ;  and  then  but- 
toned it  tight  about  him,  cursing  the  cold.  He  had 
walked  some  half  a  mile  or  so,  without  meeting  a  liv- 
ing being,  and  had  got  beyond  the  region  of  the  ten- 
ements, and  in  the  manufacturing  district  of  the  city. 
Already  he  noticed  the  strong  smell  of  oil,  borne 
backward  through  the  city  by  the  northwest  wind. 
His  way  led  downward  to  the  wharves ;  and  he 
stopped  before  the  familiar  iron  gate.  He  peered 
through  it ;  he  knew  it  to  be  the  watchman's  station, 
or  rather  that  of  one  watchman  :  there  were  two  more 
down  by  the  river  side,  whence  the  greatest  danger 
was  always  apprehended.  But  he  only  saw  the  acres 
of  tanks  and  stagings  and  pyramids  of  empty  barrels, 
and  beyond  them,  just  visible,  the  high  forest  of 


426  First  Harvests. 

masts  tapering  into  the  black  sky,  where,  in  the  west, 
a  few  stars  were  already  struggling  out. 

It  was  evident  that  the  watchman,  fearing,  on  such 
a  night,  no  enemy  but  winter  and  rough  weather,  had 
sought  some  shelter;  but  Starbuck  did  not  deem  it 
wise  to  venture  openly  through  the  gate.  He  skirted 
the  high  fence  around  toward  the  river,  where  he 
knew  there  was  a  sort  of  swinging  hatchway  in  the 
wooden  wall ;  it  was  kept  fastened  only  by  an  ordi- 
nary dropping  latch  inside,  and  this  by  inserting  a 
length  of  wire  in  the  crack,  he  easily  lifted. 

When  he  was  fairly  inside  the  yard,  he  sat  down 
for  a  moment,  smoking,  and  looked  about  him. 
The  nearest  lights  wrere  across  the  river  or  on  the 
shipping  in  the  stream  ;  but  the  ground  was  white 
with  sno\v,  and  the  huge  storage-tanks  rose  up  about 
him,  visible  by  their  very  blackness,  like  rocks  at 
night  in  foaming  water. 

He  got  up,  still  smoking,  but  screening  the  cigar 
light  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  and  went  toward  the 
water.  A  double  bank  of  the  petroleum  ships  lay 
along  the  pier ;  but  all  was  silent  on  board  of  them, 
the  watch,  if  watch  was  kept  while  they  were  moored, 
having  evidently  followed  the  example  of  the  watch- 
man at  the  outer  gate.  Thus  he  made  his  way, 
slowly,  to  the  end  of  the  pier,  losing  his  footing  now 
and  then  in  a  snowdrift,  or  slipping  suddenly  into  one 
of  the  great  pits  full  of  freezing  water  that  had  col- 
lected in  the  hollows  of  the  ground.  No  vessels 
lay  across  the  end  of  the  pier,  such  mooring  being  for- 
bidden; and  it  was  unencumbered  except  by  the 


The  Night  at  the    Works.  427 

great  iron  letters  that  stretched  across  it THE 

SILAS  STARBUCK  OIL  COMPANY.  Star- 
buck  leaned  across  the  rod  that  supported  the  first 
letter  S,  and  reflected.  It  was  a  curious  fact  that  the 
identity  of  the  name  had  never  struck  him  particu- 
larly before ;  he  knew  nothing  of  old  Silas  Starbuck, 
nor  who  he  was,  nor  whence  he  had  come,  nor  even 
that  Mrs.  Levison-Gower  had  been  his  daughter. 
Carefully  he  walked  around  the  end  of  the  wharves ; 
thousands  of  men  were  at  work  there  by  day ;  but  at 
night  a  more  lonely  place  it  would  be  hard  to  find, 
and  he  met  no  one. 

At  last,  it  seemed  as  if  the  object  of  this  unusual 
journey  were  satisfied  ;  and  he  began  to  retrace  his 
steps  toward  the  town.  As  he  passed  the  first  piles 
of  barrels,  he  stopped  and  looked  at  them  again  ; 
then  picking  up  a  stick,  he  struck  one  or  two  of  them 
a  smart  blow.  They  were  empty,  and  it  rang  hollow. 
He  pushed  the  stick  among  them  and  between  them 
to  the  ground ;  the  snow  that  had  fallen  upon  them 
had  melted,  and  the  lowest  tier  were  half  submerged 
in  a  pool  of  water.  Then  he  left  them  and  went  on 
to  the  receiving-house. 

Opposite  him,  and  a  few  hundred  yards  to  the 
right,  were  the  stills ;  lofty  iron  towers,  under  which 
a  dull  glow  showed  that  the  furnaces  were  still  doing 
their  work.  When  he  had  left  Steam  City,  the  strike 
was  complete ;  but  the  oil  still  ran  through  the  pipe- 
lines, and  stokers  had  still  been  found  to  feed  these 
refining  fires.  He  turned  sharp  to  the  left ;  and  the 
dull  light  was  soon  hidden  behind  the  storage-tanks. 


428  First  Harvests. 

There  was  sure  to  be  a  watcher  in  the  "  tail-house," 
if  the  stills  were  at  work,  to  mark  the  runs  of  oil ; 
and  Starbuck  walked  more  slowly.  But  his  steps 
were  muffled  in  the  drifts  of  snow  ;  moreover,  he  was 
close  by  the  blower,  and  the  rapid  whirling  of  the  iron 
fans  would  drown  all  other  noise.  When  he  got  to  the 
steps  that  led  to  the  door  of  the  tail-house,  there  were 
fresh  foot-prints  in  the  snow  ;  and  he  ascended  cau- 
tiously until  his  head  was  at  the  level  of  the  window 
and  then  looked  in.  The  light  inside  came  from  a 
small  tubular  stove  of  ridged  iron,  white-hot ;  and  by 
its  comfortable  warmth  a  man  sat  in  an  old  armchair, 
his  head  upon  his  breast,  asleep.  Starbuck  studied 
his  features  for  a  few  seconds  and  then  opened  the 
door  and  entered. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  cried  the  man,  starting  up. 

"It's  only  I,  Ned,"  answered  Starbuck.  "Don't 
be  so  nervous." 

"Oh,  is  that  all,"  returned  the  other.  "I  was 
afraid  it  might  be  some  feller  come  to  do  a  mischief," 
he  added,  with  a  grin. 

"  I  wanted  to  make  sure  it  was  your  watch,"  said 
James.  "  You  don't  keep  a  good  one — if  anything 
happens  to-night  I  shall  have  to  report  you." 

"  The  h — 1  you  will,"  laughed  the  other. 

"  I'm  pretty  sure  I  heard  a  boat  land,  down  by  the 
end  of  the  pier." 

"No?"  said  the  other. 

"  I  did  indeed,"  added  Starbuck.  "  I  wish  you'd 
go  down  and  see.  I  got  rumors  of  a  plot  in  town, 
and  came  over  to  warn  you." 


The  Night  at  the    Works.  429 

"  No  ?"  said  the  other,  again.  "  Did  ye  though  ? 
And  suppose  I'm  kilt — I'm  to  come  back  and  tell  yer, 
I  suppose  ?  Why  don't  you  come  along  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  take  a  turn  by  the  spraying-house  first," 
answered  James.  "  I'll  join  you  there  in  a  minute 
— on  the  wharf,  I  mean."  And  as  he  spoke,  Starbuck 
left  the  little  cabin  and  went  down  the  steps. 

"  It  'ud  be  awk'ard  if  any  fellow  were  to  happen  in 
here  while  we're  both  gone,  wouldn't  it  ?"  he  called 
out ;  but  Starbuck  was  already  out  of  hearing,  thread- 
ing his  way  through  the  darkness  to  the  spraying- 
house  ;  the  fountain  not  playing  now,  at  night,  when 
there  was  no  sun  to  brighten  it,  and  the  great  well  of 
oil  lying  still  and  sleeping,  warmed  by  the  steam-pipes 
that  were  coiled,  like  warm-blooded  serpents,  in  its 
depths. 

The  man  called  Ned  watched  him  go,  the  grin  that 
had  accompanied  his  last  remark  quickly  fading  on  his 
face ;  then,  wrapping  his  overcoats  around  him,  he, 
too,  went  out  and  walked  away  with  rapid  steps 
through  the  dark  yard. 

He  left  the  door  of  the  tail-house  open  behind 
him  ;  and  when,  in  a  few  minutes,  James  Starbuck  re- 
turned, he  found  the  place  already  cold.  He  shut 
the  door  to  and  sat  down ;  the  cigar  in  his  mouth 
had  gone  out  and  he  opened  the  door  of  the  stove 
with  an  old  iron  rod  to  stir  the  fire  and  get  a  bit  of 
live  coal  for  a  light.  But  he  had  no  tongs  ;  and  in- 
deed the  live  coal  seemed  unnecessary,  as  he  pulled 
out  quite  a  bundle  of  matches  from  his  pocket.  lie 


430  First  Harvests. 

let  the  glowing  coals  lie  unheeded  on  the  floor,  and 
looked  at  his  watch  by  the  light  of  the  open  stove- 
door.  It  was  three  o'clock.  And  he  cowered  back  in 
the  chair,  shivering. 

It  seemed  so  small  a  thing  to  do,  after  all !  His 
lip  curled  with  scorn  as  he  thought  of  his  simple- 
minded  associates  and  how  great  a  thing  they  made  of 
it.  It  would  fill  perhaps  a  column  in  the  morrow's 
paper — about  as  much  space,  perhaps,  as  might  be 
allotted  to  the  Duval  ball.  Yet  such  things  scared 
the  stupid  public ;  and  they  encouraged  his  party, 
much  as  a  boy  is  made  proud  by  the  loud  report  of 
his  first  toy-cannon.  His  own  ideas  went  so  far  be- 
yond, that  he  regarded  it  as  little  more  than  the  bow- 
chaser  some  red  rover  fires  across  the  bow  of  a  fat 
merchantman,  by  way  of  preliminary  parley.  He 
was  tired,  too ;  and  the  earlier  events  of  the  night 
had  been  exciting. 

However,  he  made  an  effort,  and  shook  himself  to- 
gether. Time  was  going.  He  got  up  and  went  to 
the  runs.  There  were  the  two  glass-covered  channels, 
side  by  side;  and  both  were  running  oil.  Outside 
the  little  shed  they  entered  two  long  wooden  boxes 
or  troughs,  supported  on  trestle-work,  and  running 
several  hundred  feet  in  a  downward  inclination  to  the 
receiving-tanks,  whence  they  were  in  turn  conducted 
to  the  spraying-house,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 

James  Starbuck  lifted  up  the  iron  rod  he  had  used 
to  poke  the  fire,  and  brought  it  down  with  a  crushing 
blow  over  the  glass-topped  runnels.  Then  he  struck 
a  match  across  the  stove,  and  standing  in  the  door- 


The  Night  at  the    Works.  431 

way,  leaned  over  and  touched  the  blue  flame  to  the 
edge  of  the  running  oil. 

For  some  reason  it  did  not  catch  ;  and  he  tried  an- 
other match.  This  he  fairly  dropped  into  the  oil  ; 
but  with  no  better  success,  as  the  feeble  flame  was 
put  out  instantly.  "  Damn  the  thing,"  said  he  to 
himself  ;  and  lighting  another  match,  he  waited  until 
the  flame  was  fairly  burning,  and  looked  at  the  oil. 

The  little  runnel  he  had  touched,  partly  choked 
with  broken  bits  of  glass,  was  full  of  a  thick  dark 
liquid,  yellowish  in  color,  but  blue  with  numerous 
big  globules  of  water.  It  was  almost  the  last  run,[too 
crude  or  too  impure  to  take  fire  at  a  spark.  He 
looked  at  the  other ;  and  in  it  he  recognized  the  shin- 
ing stream,  and  the  strange  metallic  lustre  of  the 
naphtha's  flow. 

He  took  a  small  shovelful  of  red-hot  coals  from  the 
little  stove,  and  got  well  out  the  doorway  with  it, 
standing  down  as  many  steps  as  he  could.  For  this 
was  the  light  surface  oil,  taking  fire  at  a  spark,  more 
quick  and  dangerous  than  the  cruder  average.  And 
with  a  careful  aim,  he  sent  a  handful  of  the  burning 
coals  into  the  now  open  trough. 

Even  with  the  care  that  he  had  used,  the  first  blast  of 
flame  was  greater  than  he  had  thought  possible  ;  and 
he  was  hurled  by  the  outward  rush  of  air,  half-blinded, 
down  the  remaining  steps  of  the  ladder,  and  fell  into 
the  deep  snow.  He  ran  back  a  few  steps  and  looked 
up.  Already  the  shed  was  on  fire,  and  the  burning 
oil,  running  from  it  in  the  trough,  was  spurting  into 
jets  of  flame  upon  the  trestle-work.  Though  wet 


432  First  Harvests. 

with  rain,  this  structure,  so  long  soaked  with  oil,  was 
taking  fire  rapidly.  But  there  had  been  little  noise 
as  yet,  and  no  signs  of  an  alarm.  He  ran  back  some 
distance,  and  took  refuge  beside  a  brick  storehouse, 
behind  a  pile  of  empty  barrels. 

He  looked  at  his  watch ;  it  was  a  quarter  past  the 
hour;  and  for  once,  whether  from  his  running  or 
some  other  reason,  his  heart  beat  quickly.  He  paid 
no  attention  to  the  flaming  trestle,  but  looked  in  the 
direction  of  the  spraying-house  that  he  had  left  upon 
the  stroke  of  three.  For  he  had  left  in  the  spraying- 
house  a  fifteen-minute  fuse. 

And,  as  he  stood  there,  watch  in  hand,  the  whole 
earth  shook  beneath  him  ;  and  with  a  noise  that  was 
more  terrible  than  loud  the  silence  of  the  city's  night 
was  broken  ;  and  the  iron  roof  of  the  spraying-house 
was  hurled  to  heaven  on  a  pillow  of  yellow  fire.  And 
Starbuck  crouched  behind  his  solid  wall  and  screamed 
aloud. 

It  seemed  many  minutes  before  he  heard  the  crash 
and  rattle  of  the  falling  plates  of  iron.  Then  a  flood 
of  blazing  oil  poured  forth,  and  ran  in  all  directions, 
mixing  with  the  pools  of  melted  snow.  Already  the 
trestle  was  a  roaring  mass  of  flame  ;  the  woodwork 
about  the  receiving  tanks  caught  one  after  the  other  ; 
and  Starbuck  ran  wildly  to  his  distant  gate  in  the 
fence  and  cowered  there,  behind  a  pile  of  wornout 
iron.  He  heard  far  off  the  shrieks  of  the  sleeping 
watchmen,  and  then  hoarse  shouting  from  the  city. 
Then,  like  some  titanic  minute-guns,  the  great  tanks 
exploded,  one  after  one,  in  majestic  sequence ;  and 


The  Night  at  the    Works.  433 

the  stars  of  the  sky  were  veiled  in  fires  of  the  nether 
world. 

Then  came  the  clang  of  bells  in  distant  towers,  and 
the  shriller  rattle  of  the  fire-engines,  and  shouts  of 
frightened  men.  In  brief  time  he  heard  them  crying 
at  the  outer  gate,  and  saw  them  pouring  into  the 
yard,  swarming  over  the  high  fence,  thousand  upon 
thousand  of  them  ;  but  the  pouring  oil  now  flowed 
steadily,  in  flaming  streams,  and  cut  them  off  as  with 
a  sword  of  fire  from  the  enclosure  ;  he  could  see  them 
standing  silent  on  the  hither  side,  in  motionless 
throngs,  gazing  with  pallid  faces  at  the  world  of  fire. 

He  heard,  too,  the  shouts  of  the  Norwegian  sailors 
in  their  ships  along  the  wharves;  the  yellow  flood 
flowed  steadily  toward  them,  its  burning  stream  melt- 
ing the  snow  and  riding  faster  on  the  water's  surface 
in  great  blazing  pools.  One  fire-river  had  already 
reached  the  end  of  the  wharf,  and  fell  over  it,  in  a 
cascade  of  flame,  through  the  iron  colossal  letters  to 
the  icy  river.  The  tide  took  it  rapidly  down  among 
the  ships ;  the  first  was  now  flaming,  from  the  bow- 
sprit up  the  foremast,  licking  the  tar  and  oakum  from 
the  iron  rod.  He  heard  the  groups  of  sailors,  in  a 
panic  rush  behind  him  where  he  sat;  others  stayed  at 
their  posts  and  worked  like  demons,  with  capstans 
and  cables,  to  warp  their  vessels  beyond  the  reach  of 
danger.  The  city  fire-boat  had  come ;  and  the  burn- 
ing oil-ship  was  cut  adrift  and  dropped  down  the 
river,  the  fire-engines  of  the  steamer  playing  on  it 
vainly ;  in  a  few  seconds,  with  a  loud  explosion,  it 
was  shattered  to  the  water's  edge.  The  very  river 


434  First  Harvests. 

was  blazing  like  a  crater's  mouth  with  patches  of  the 
burning  oil;  and  now,  last  of  all,  the  huge  storage 
tanks,  each  holding  its  hundreds  of  tons,  were  scat- 
tered into  seas  of  burning  gas.  No  nook  or  cranny  of 
the  great  yard  but  was  lit  with  yellow  light,  intenser, 
vivider  than  the  sun's ;  the  sky  above  was  like  a  mol- 
ten plate  of  copper,  touched  with  swarms  of  scarlet 
sparks;  and  only  beyond  the  river,  above  the  red- 
walled  houses,  were  the  cold  pale  streaks  of  dawn. 

James  went  boldly  out,  mingling  among  the  mad- 
dened crowd.  His  breath  had  returned  ;  and  a  faint 
smile  was  on  his  lips  as  he  took  his  way  slowly  back 
through  the  now  thronged  streets  to  the  river.  His 
quickened  blood  poured  sluggishly  again  ;  and  his 
mind  was  busy  with  thought.  Do  serpents  pant  in 
the  heat  of  conflict ;  or  does  their  blood  turn  warm 
when  they  have  withdrawn  the  sting  ?  He  had,  per- 
haps, a  faint  sense  of  gratified  power ;  but  the  mere 
destruction  of  one  piece  of  property  was,  after  all,  so 
small  a  thing! 

While  he  was  crossing  the  ferry  he  looked  up  the 
river  at  the  flaming  world  that  he  had  made  ;  it  was 
a  fine  spectacle,  and  he  watched  it  as  calmly,  as  dis- 
passionately, as  Flossie  Gower  had  done,  when,  not 
knowing  that  it  was  her  fortune  that  had  gone,  she 
saw  it  burn  from  Mr.  Wemyss's  window. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE    OLDEST    MEMBER. 

(HE  following  day,  early  in  the  afternoon, 
Lionel  Dervvent  walked  into  the  Colum- 
bian Club.  It  was  a  place  that  he  did  not 
usually  frequent,  though  he  had  a  stranger's 
membership  ;  but  we  have  already  learned  that  Der- 
went  was  most  usually  to  be  found  in  most  unusual 
places.  No  one  was  in  the  morning-room  but  old  Mr. 
Livingstone ;  he  was  sitting  in  his  accustomed  arm- 
chair by  the  window,  a  chair  in  which  he  had  a  right 
of  property  between  the  hours  of  three  and  five  in  the 
afternoon  that  all  the  club  respected.  Mr.  Living- 
stone did  not  notice  Derwent  when  he  entered  ;  per- 
haps because  he  was  growing  very  old  and  his  sight 
and  hearing  were  defective.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
an  empty  chair  in  front  of  him  and  he  seemed  to  be 
lost  in  thought.  Derwent  took  up  a  newspaper  and 
sat  down  in  another  corner  of  the  room. 

We  are  fond  of  saying  in  New  York  that  life  there 
moves  so  rapidly  that  the  morning  paper  is  already 
stale  at  three.  Hence,  have  we  no  Homers ;  who 
sing  some  ten  years'  action  and  take  a  lifetime  for  it. 
But  to  Derwent,  the  newspapers'  deeds  were  stale 
even  in  the  doing :  humanity  at  three  o'clock  was 


436  First  Harvests. 

like  humanity  at  nine.  Two  young  men  entered, 
fresh  and  rosy,  with  camelias  in  their  coats ;  they 
were  of  those  who  toil  not,  neither  spin. 

"  Do  you  know,  they  say  that  Townley  &  Tamms 
have  failed?" 

"  So  I  hear.     Great  ball,  last  night." 

"  Ugh — I'm  sleepy  yet." 

Derwent  looked  back  to  his  paper.  Mr.  Living- 
stone did  not  appear  to  have  heard  this  colloquy,  but 
was  sitting  idly  as  if  dozing.  In  the  financial  column 
Derwent  found,  at  last,  a  simple  paragraph  : 

"  Owing  to  the  illness  of  Mr.  Phineas  Tamms  and 
the  temporary  absence  of  the  senior  partner,  the  house 
of  Townley  &  Tamms  are  reported  as  temporarily 
unable  to  meet  their  obligations.  The  rumor  created 
much  excitement  at  the  close,  and  several  thousand 
shares  of  Allegheny  Central  were  sold  for  them  under 
the  rule.  This  is  believed  to  account  for  the  sudden 
weakness  in  that  stock,  which  was  particularly  strong 
at  the  morning  board.  We  are  assured  that  the  diffi- 
culty is  but  temporary ;  as  the  house  is  one  of  the 
strongest,  as  it  is  the  oldest,  on  the  street." 

De  Witt  came  in,  and  nodded  a  word  to  Mr.  Liv- 
ingstone, but  the  old  man  did  not  hear  him  ;  and  Der- 
went turned  over  his  newspaper  to  the  account  of  the 
great  fire.  This  he  read  with  some  interest.  "  There 
is  a  rumor  that  the  fire  was  incendiary,"  it  concluded  ; 
"  the  head  watchman  reports  that  he  received  a  warn- 
ing that  some  mischief  was  to  be  attempted  ;  and 
shortly  after  midnight,  getting  word  that  a  suspicious 
boat  seemed  to  be  attempting  a  landing  at  the  river 


The  Oldest  Member.  437 

front,  he  left  his  post  temporarily  on  a  tour  of  obser- 
vation; and  it  was  during  his  absence  that  the  fire 
broke  out.  Other  than  this  there  appears  little 
ground  for  ascribing  to  the  fire  an  incendiary  origin ; 
and  no  possible  motive  for  such  a  crime  can  be  sug- 
gested. The  bulk  of  the  property  belongs  to  Mrs.  T. 
Levison-Govver,  well  known  as  a  leader  of  fashion  in 
our  most  exclusive  circles." 

O  sapient  newspaper !  Derwent  turned  to  the  first 
page,  the  bulk  of  which  was  filled  by  the  great  ball, 
where  he  read  of  the  diamonds  and  the  dresses,  how 
Mrs.  Wilton  Hay  wore  a  sleeveless  satin  and  a  rope 
of  pearls ;  how  Mrs.  John  Malgam  had  her  corsage 
cut  en  cceur,  and  how  well  looked  Mrs.  Gower  in  a 
simple  gown,  cut  directoire,  and  how  well  the  foot- 
men's calves  in  white  silk  stockings.  But  just  then 
some  young  men  entered  from  down  town  j  and  quite 
a  group  drew  close  about  them. 

"  Is  it  all  true  about  Townley  ?  " 

"  Perfect  smash,  I  hear " 


"  No  one  knows  where  Tamms  is " 

"  Canada,  they  say — 

"  Charlie  Townley  was  there  at  the  opening,  but 
the  fire  finished  him.  A  little  Starbuck  Oil  was  posi- 
tively all  they  had."  The  last  speaker  was  Arthur 
Holyoke. 

"  They  say  that  even  he  left  the  State  to-night. 
Poor  Charlie,  I'm  sorry  for  him,"  said  Killian  Van 
Kull. 

"  There's  a  warrant  out  for  Tamms  already,"  said 
another.  "  Old  Fechheimer  got  it." 


438  First  Harvests. 

"  He  pledged  a  lot  of  Fechheimer's  bonds  that  he 
held  in  a  syndicate,  I  was  told,"  said  Jack  Malgam. 

"  Here  are  the  evening  papers,"  cried  another,  as  a 
servant  entered  bearing  a  bundle  of  newspapers,  which 
were  quickly  seized  and  devoured.  For  some  min- 
utes all  was  silence,  save  for  an  occasional  ejaculation 
of  surprise.  Derwent  continued  to  watch  the  club- 
room  silently.  Old  Mr.  Livingstone  still  sat  in  his 
chair,  looking  at  the  empty  one  over  against  him, 
which  no  one  had  taken. 

"  By  Jove,  it  is  worse  than  I  thought,"  cried  Mal- 
gam, with  that  certain  pleasure  bad  news  gives  one 
when  it  is  impressive  and  not  personal.  "  Look  here 
— the  liabilities  are  said  to  amount  to  ten  millions ; 
the  assets  at  present  prices  would  not  bring  half  that 
sum.  The  family  of  Mr.  Phineas  Tamms  profess  en- 
tire ignorance  as  to  his  whereabouts ;  but  telegrams 
from  reliable  sources  report  his  arrival  at  Montreal 
this  morning." 

"  No  other  houses  believed  to  be  as  yet  involved  in 
the  failure."  This  latter  news  was  read  by  De  Witt 
with  an  air  of  some  relief. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  added  another.  "  They 
held  property  for  a  great  many  people,  to  my  certain 
knowledge." 

"  Tamms  was  to  have  been  arrested  to-night,"  Mal- 
gam read.  "  It  is  believed  that  a  warrant  has  also 
been  sworn  out  for  Mr.  Townley  Junior. — I  wonder 
where  he  is  ?  " 

It  was  noticeable  that  no  one  of  them  had  yet  men- 
tioned old  Mr.  Townley 's  name.  The  company  broke 


T/i e   Oldest  Member.  439 

up  into  little  groups,  each  discussing  the  great  failure ; 
which  were  added  to  from  time  to  time  as  new  men 
came  in  with  their  quota  of  news.  Even  the  Duval 
ball  had  ceased  to  be  talked  about ;  so  soon  is  one 
man's  glory  eclipsed  by  another  man's  disgrace.  But 
Lionel  Derwent  marked  that  not  one  kindly  word 
was  said  for  Tamms. 

There  was  a  slight  sensation  at  the  door  of  the 
room,  as  young  Beverly  White  entered  ;  for  White 
was  Remington's  partner,  and  had  made  much  money 
in  these  last  few  days.  Remington  himself  was  not 
a  member  of  the  club  ;  gossip  had  said  that  he  could 
not  get  in,  even  though  White  had  proposed  him. 

"  Well,  White,  what  news?  "and  the  young  men 
crowded  round  him. 

"  The  news  is  that  old  Tamms  has  gone  to  smash, 
as  I  always  said  he  would,"  said  White ;  and  he  sank 
into  an  easy  chair  and  called  for  some  soda-water 
with  an  air  of  languid  indifference. 

"  Pshaw  !  we  knew  that  before " 

"  Why  did  you  ask  me,  then  ?  "  said  White.  "  If 
people  will  speculate  with  other  people's  money " 

"  Other  people's  money  ?  " 

"Yes — other  people's  money,"  drawled  out  the 
young  man,  sneeringly.  "  Old  Townley  got  his 
boxes  full,  and  then  used  it." 

"  Hush,"  said  several,  pointing  to  Mr.  Livingstone 
in  the  window.  "  I  guess  it'll  be  some  time  before 
White  gets  his  precious  partner  in  here,  after  that  re- 
mark," said  another. 

Mr.  Livingstone,  too,  had  taken  a  paper,  and  been 


4-p  First  Harvests. 

poring  over  it ;  but  something  in  this  last  speech 
seemed  to  reach  his  ear,  and  he  looked  up. 

"  Let's  ask  the  old  boy,"  said  Malgam,  in  an  under- 
tone. "  He  must  know  more  than  all  of  us." 

"  Have  you  heard  this  news,  sir  ?  "  said  Killian  Van 
Kull.  Mr.  Livingstone  nodded  silently.  "  And  is  it 
as  bad  as  they  say  ?  " 

"  Worse,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  his  voice  quaver- 
ing. 

"  But  you  cannot  suppose  that  Mr.  Townley  knew 
anything  of  it  ?  " 

"  It  makes  little  difference  whether  he  knew  of  it 
or  not,"  answered  the  old  man.  There  was  a  printed 
list  of  the  club's  members  on  the  wall  opposite  him, 
and  he  was  looking  at  it.  Perhaps  he  was  looking  at 
the  name  of  Charles  Townley,  whom  he  had  played 
with  as  a  boy. 

"  I  knew  that  Tamms  was  a  bad  egg,"  said  De  Witt, 
"  but  that  Mr.  Townley— 

"  Charles  Townley,  sir,  is  no  better  than  a  scoun- 
drel," said  Mr.  Livingstone  slowly.  "  He  had  all  my 
wife's  money,  and  nearly  all  of  mine — but  DAMME, 
sir,  do  you  suppose  I  care  for  the  money  ?  If  Charles 
Townley  were  sitting  here  with  me  again — I  would 
give  him —  If  Charlie  Townley  were  sitting  here, 
I — "  The  old  man's  voice  grew  weak,  and  he  broke 
off  in  a  sob. 

The  young  men  shifted  about  uneasily ;  and  Der- 
went,  in  his  corner,  put  up  his  newspaper  before  his 
face  and  tried  to  read. 

Lucie  Gower  came  in.     He  had  just  got  home  from 


The   Oldest  Member.  441 

a  shooting  trip  down  South.  "  Is  Mr.  Townley 
here  ? "  said  he.  "  I  stopped  at  Wall  Street  on  my 
way  up  town ;  and  they  tell  me  that  the  officers  have 
gone  to  arrest  him." 

"  No,"  said  someone.  Then  there  was  a  long  si- 
lence. Mr.  Livingstone  spoke  again.  "  Charles 
Townley  was  the  oldest  member  of  this  club.  And 
I  am  the  next ;  and  was  his  oldest  friend.  And 
Charles  Townley  is  a  scoundrel."  The  old  man  rose  ; 
and  the  younger  men  thought  he  was  going  out,  and 
made  way  for  him  at  the  door.  But  he  walked  over 
to  the  printed  list  of  members  that  was  opposite  him 
upon  the  wall.  "  Charles  Townley — 1839,"  he  mut- 
tered, as  he  found  the  place ;  and  taking  a  pen  that 
lay  on  the  table  beneath,  he  filled  it  with  ink,  and 
drew  it,  with  a  trembling  hand,  heavily  across  the 
name.  Then  he  turned,  and  went  to  the  door ;  while 
the  younger  men  sat  silent.  There  he  stopped  a  mo- 
ment. "  We  are  gentlemen  in  this  club.  That  is  all." 
And  they  heard  his  uncertain  step  across  the  hall. 

All  the  men  sat  and  looked  at  one  another ;  but  no 
one  cared  to  speak.  After  some  minutes  a  group 
gathered  around  Gower,  and  conversed  in  undertones. 
"  It  was  the  only  thing  to  do,"  said  one.  "  He  will 
never  come  here  to  see." 

"  We  could  not  have  expelled  the  poor  old  gentle- 
man," said  Van  Kull. 

"  But  is  it  really  as  bad  as  he  says  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it.  Tamms  has  made  a  clean 
sweep.  And  the  old  gentleman  must  have  given  him 
access  to  his  own  trusts." 


44 2  First  Harvests. 

«  Poor  old  fellow  !     But  what  will  Charlie  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Charlie  will  fall  on  his  legs.  Wasn't  it 
plucky,  the  way  he  faced  the  market  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Damn  Remington !  " 

"  You  forget  he  is  my  partner,"  said  Beverly  White. 

"  Then  damn  you,  too,"  said  Van  Kull  cavalierly. 
"  But  poor  old  Townley  !  I'm  sorry " 

The  speaker  stopped,  conscious  of  a  sudden  chill. 
For  there  was  an  opening  in  the  crowd,  and  there 
stood  Mr.  Townley  close  behind  him. 

"  Well,  boys — bad  times  in  the  street,  eh  ?  "  The 
old  man's  voice  piped  a  shrill  treble,  and  there  was 
something  almost  childish  in  his  laugh.  "  Ah,  the 
house  of  Charles  Townley  &  Son  has  seen  worse  times 
than  this.  I  remember  when  my  father — in  thirty- 
nine " 

There  was  dead  silence  in  the  room.  Gower  went 
up  and  tried  to  lead  the  old  man  away  from  the  group 
of  strangers. 

"  Ah,  Gower,  glad  to  see  you •  I've  found  a  pict- 
ure I  think  you'd  like — you  must  come  around  to  my 
house  this  evening — that  is,  if  you've  nothing  else  to 
do  better  than  smoking  with  an  old  fellow  like  me. 
Eh  !  you  young  dogs  !  you  young  dogs !  But  why  are 
you  all  so  glum,  my  boys  ?  Ah,  you  young  fellows 
take  things  too  earnest,  nowadays." 

"  There's  been  a  bad  day  in  the  stock-market,"  said 
Beverly  White.  "  I  hope,  sir,  the  reports  of  Mr. 
Tamms's  doings  have  been  exaggerated  ?" 

("  Shut  up,  confound  you,"  whispered  Van  Kull ; 
but  the  other  answered  him  with  an  ugly  leer.) 


The   Oldest  Member.  443 

"  Mr.  Tamms  ?  ah,  yes — clever  fellow,  Tamms.  I 
like  to  help  a  young  fellow  along;  he  was  in  a  tight 
place  and  I  pulled  him  out.  If  you'd  like  a  few  hun- 
dred thousand  I  could  let  you  have  it — but  they  say 
Townley  &  Son  have  failed,  you  know.  And  Charlie 
told  me  something  about  my  trusts — but  that  can't 
be,  can  it  ?  I  never  lost  a  dollar  on  my  trusts.  All 
gone — everything  gone  !  Where's  Livingstone,  my 
old  friend  Livingstone  ?  His  seat  empty — why,  he 
isn't  ill  ?  Tell  me,  my  boy,  where's  Dick  Living- 
stone ?  " 

"  He's  gone,  sir,"  said  Gower. 

"  Gone  ?  why  gone  ?  he  always  waits  for  me — 
there's  nothing  wrong  with  Livingstone,  I  hope  ? 
Why,  he's  a  better  man  than  I  by  most  a  year." 

"  He's  lost  much  money,  sir,  they  say — he  said  he 
couldn't  wait." 

"  Lost  ?  lost  money  ?  Oh,  yes — all  gone,  gone — 
No,  no — wait  till  my  son  Charlie  gets  down  town — 
he's  a  bright  boy ;  he'll  carry  on  the  old  house,  and 
show  you  boys  a  wrinkle,  eh  ?  " 

No  man  there  ventured  to  speak ;  for  his  son  Char- 
lie had  died,  some  time  back  in  the  fifties. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Townley  began  to  laugh.  "  Aha, 
Dick  Livingstone,  we'll  show  the  boys  a  turn  or  two 
— but  where  is  he  ?  Tamms — I  know — my  God — 
he's  a  rascal — it's  gone,  all  gone." 

The  old  man  tottered  toward  his  seat  in  the  win- 
dow. It  was  just  before  the  list  of  members;  and  all 
were  silent  in  suspense.  Would  he  see  his  name, 
where  Livingstone  had  crossed  it  off  ?  But  suddenly  a 


444  First  Harvests. 

firm  hand  was  laid  on  the  old  man's  elbow.  "  Come 
home  with  me,  sir.  I've  got  a  carriage  waiting."  It 
was  Lionel  Derwent. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Derwent — glad  to  see  you."  His  wan 
face  lighted  up  with  pleasure;  and  he  seemed  to  think 
he  was  talking  again  with  Derwent  in  the  office. 
"Yes,  it's  a  good  stock — always  was  a  good  stock 
since  Townley  &  Son  managed  it.  Come  home,  you 
say  ?  Yes,  I  think — I'm  not  quite  well.  Good-by, 
my  boys." 

Derwent  led  his  tottering  steps  to  the  door.  He 
smiled  vacantly,  but  leaned  heavily  on  Derwent's 
arm.  No  longer  prey  for  Tamms,  nor  fitting  object 
for  a  sheriff's  care,  or  other  troubles  of  this  world. 
They  passed  the  silent  group  about  the  centre-table, 
which  made  way  respectfully. 

"  Don't  forget  the  picture,  Gower,"  said  he,  as  Der- 
went led  him  from  the  door. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

THE   END   OF   THE    EPISODE. 

HEN  the  train  had  fairly  started,  that 
morning,  Flossie  sank  back  into  her  seat 
with  a  certain  sensation  of  relief.  Al- 
most immediately,  they  entered  the  long 
tunnel  under  the  city ;  no  conversation  was  possible, 
nor  could  she  see  Mr.  Wemyss's  face.  She  had  the 
back  seat  herself ;  Justine  sat  with  him,  on  the  seat 
in  front  of  her.  As  they  came  out  of  the  tunnel  and 
crossed  the  Harlem  River,  she  looked  at  him.  He 
met  her  eye  nervously,  and  she  could  see  that  he  was 
embarrassed  by  the  presence  of  the  maid. 

"When  do  we  sail  ?"  said  she.  Flossie  was  quite 
indifferent  to  the  maid.  What  cared  she  for  the 
maid's  opinion  ?  And  she  ignored  his  glances  beseech- 
ing that  she  might  be  told  to  go.  But  Justine  herself 
asked  Mrs.  Gower  demurely  if  she  should  not  fetch  a 
glass  of  water,  and  went  of  her  own  accord. 

"  The  Parthia  sails  at  six  to-night,"  said  Wemyss. 
"  You  will  have  ample  time  to  rest  in  Boston,  if  you 
wish,  dearest."  The  expression  of  affection  sounded 
commonplace  ;  and  Wemyss  felt  that  it  did,  self-con- 
sciously. "  It  is  infinitely  better  we  should  go  from 


446  First  Harvests. 

Boston,"  he  went  on  ;  "  the  Parthia  is  slow,  but  that 
makes  no  difference ;  and  there  is  certain  to  be  no 
one  in  her  we  know,  at  this  time  of  the  year.  I  took 
the  passage  in  fictitious  names,  of  course." 

"  What  did  you  do  that  for  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  would  prefer  it,"  said  he ;  and 
made  bold  to  take  her  hand. 

"  It  was  very  ridiculous  and  quite  unnecessary,'' 
said  Flossie,  withdrawing  it.  "  When  I  go  to  Europe, 
I  am  willing  all  the  world  should  know." 

Wemyss  did  not  know  just  what  to  say;  and  for- 
tunately the  conductor  made  his  first  entry  at  that 
juncture.  He  attended  to  his  business  perfunctorily; 
and  it  struck  Wemyss  as  curious  that  he  did  not  note 
anything  unusual  about  their  trip.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  all  the  world  must  see  that  he  was  going  to  Eng- 
land with  her,  and  that  she  was  not  his  wife. 

The  newspapers  lay  unread  upon  the  seat.  Mrs. 
Gower  did  not  care  to  read  them  ;  and  Wemyss  gave 
his  whole  attention  to  her,  as  a  matter  of  course- 
She  was  looking  at  the  window,  watching  the  familiar 
landscape  fly  by ;  and  he  began  to  think  how  they 
could  pass  through  Boston  with  least  certainty  of 
being  seen.  He  had  had  the  passenger-list  of  the 
steamer  telegraphed  on  the  night  before ;  and  knew 
that  no  acquaintance  would  be  on  board ;  he  felt  it 
would  be  embarrassing  to  meet  an  acquaintance, 
until  their  position  was  regularized. 

When  the  train  had  crossed  the  Harlem  River, 
Wemyss  felt  as  if  the  Rubicon  were  passed.  But 
already  the  feeling  of  elation,  the  flattery  to  his 


The  End  of  t/ie  Episode.  447 

amour-propre,  began  to  pass  away.  There  were  cer- 
tain difficulties,  even  in  the  Decadence  ;  conventions 
yet  remaining  which  annoyed  him. 

It  had  been  tacitly  agreed  between  them  that  when 
Gower  got  his  divorce,  Wemyss  was  to  marry  her.  In 
the  meantime,  he  was  to  escort  her  to  England,  where 
they  both  had  many  friends.  And  Wemyss  reassured 
himself  by  thinking  how  these  friends  had  treated 
similar  cases  ;  leniently,  he  was  sure,  with  result  of  a 
not  wholly  unpleasant  notoriety,  and  even,  in  the 
man's  case,  of  a  certain  glamour.  A  little  temporary 
retirement,  of  course,  was  fitting  enough. 

How  long  would  that  have  to  last  ?  Six  months  ? 
A  year  ?  They  could  go  abroad — to  the  Mediter- 
ranean— up  the  Nile — that  is,  if  he  could  persuade 
Mrs.  Gower  to  do  so.  It  would  be  terribly  slow, 
being  in  England  through  the  London  season  and  not 
going  out ;  for  of  course  he  could  not  honorably  go 
out  without  her. — Not  but  that,  of  course,  he  would 
always  be  happy  wherever  he  could  be  with  her; 
as  correcting  himself,  he  hastened  to  think. — The 
train  stopped  at  Bridgeport ;  and  looking  out,  he 
saw  a  company  of  blue-coated,  elderly  men,  rigged 
out  with  swords  and  divers  sashes  and  parti-colored 
orders.  It  was  some  post  of  G.  A.  R.  marching  in 
procession,  with  a  brass  band  ;  they  did  not  march 
well,  and  yet  seemed  gravely  impressed  with  the 
importance  of  the  occasion.  They  took  themselves 
seriously ;  and  had  not  yet  discovered  the  Decadence. 
Wemyss  called  Mrs.  Gower's  attention  to  them  with 
some  amusement;  she  looked  at  them  listlessly,  with 


44  8  First  Harvests. 

her  mind  on  other  things.  "  Don't  you  want  to  go 
and  smoke  ?  "  said  she. 

Mr.  Wemyss  had  never  felt  so  much  need  of  a  cigar 
in  his  life,  but  he  felt  bound  to  deny  it.  The  train 
pulled  out  of  the  station  ;  and  he  saw  the  bluecoats, 
now  portly  citizens,  with  weapons  that  seemed  curi- 
ously out  of  place,  marching  cheerfully  through  the 
snow.  Wemyss  had  not  fought  in  the  war.  He  won- 
dered what  he  ought  to  do  if  Gower  should  challenge 
him.  Wemyss  was  no  physical  coward,  and  he  felt 
he  ought  to  be  true  to  the  code  of  honor.  But  did 
not  English  ideas  rather  cast  ridicule  upon  duels  in 
such  cases  ?  And  Wemyss  dreaded  ridicule  more  than 
anything  else  in  the  world  ;  and  was  an  Englishman 
above  all  things — particularly  for  the  future.  There 
was  no  question  that  the  bourgeoisie  of  Boston  would 
never  condone  his  offence.  Still,  if  Gower  sent  a 
challenge,  he  should  certainly  have  to  meet  him. 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  and  smoke,"  said  Flossie, 
impatiently.  "  I  want  to  go  to  sleep." 

"  True — and  forgive  me,  dear — I  ought  to  have 
remembered  you  have  been  up  all  night,  and  your 
triumphs  at  the  ball."  He  took  her  hand,  and  bent 
over  it ;  and  the  trivial  thought  came  into  his  head 
to  wonder  if  Flossie  had  any  doubts  of  her  com- 
plexion ;  the  thought  annoyed  him,  coming  at  such  a 
time;  it  was  not  like  a  Launcelot,  hardly  like  Lau- 
zun.  But  he  walked  away  regretfully,  and  went  to 
the  smoking-room,  where  he  did  take  the  cigar  he 
really  needed  ;  for  he  too  had  been  up  all  night,  and 
he,  at  least,  was  worn  and  weary.  When  he  was 


The  End  of  the  Episode.  449 

gone,  Flossie  closed  her   eyes   and  went   quietly  to 
sleep. 

There  were  two  men  in  the  smoking-room  ;  but 
Wemyss  looked  in  before  he  entered,  and  made  up 
his  mind  that  they  were  neither  of  them  gentlemen. 
He  sat  down  and  lit  his  cigar  without  fear  that  they 
could  recognize  him.  He  looked  at  the  two  other 
occupants  of  the  place,  who  were  evidently  on  some 
business  journey,  and  fancied  to  himself  what  they 
would  say  if  they  knew  the  object  of  his  own.  For 
all  his  indifference,  Wemyss  was  more  nervous  after 
his  grand  coup  than  had  been  Jem  Starbuck. 

He  reminded  himself  that  he  must  think,  like 
other  heroes  of  great  passion,  of  his  lady  fair.  Last 
night,  at  the  ball,  he  had  really  adored  her ;  if,  to- 
day, there  was  the  faintest  possible  reaction,  was  it 
not  natural  after  all  ?  It  takes  a  Dresden-china 
shepherd  rather  than  a  man  of  the  world  to  be 
idyllic  in  a  railroad  car ;  he  was  sure  that  he  admired 
her,  that  she  fascinated  him,  that  if  he  was  not  in 
love  with  her,  he  had  never  been  in  love.  He  had 
contemplated  this  step  for  years.  He  was  ready  to 
sacrifice  his  whole  future  for  her. 

Another  man  entered  the  car,  a  younger  man  ;  he 
looked  at  him  almost  inquisitively,  and  Wemyss  felt 
sure  that  he  had  seen  his  face  before.  His  cigar  was 
nearly  done  ;  moreover  his  savoir  faire  reproached 
him  with  staying  so  long  away  from  Flossie,  and  he 
left  his  place  to  the  new-comer.  But  he  found  her 
still  asleep ;  though  she  opened  her  eyes  at  his  en- 
trance. "  Where  are  we  ?  " 
29 


45°  First  Harvests. 

"  New  Haven."     Flossie  sighed. 

"  Don't  let  me  disturb  you,"  he  added. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  sleep  no  more."  He  sat  down  oppo- 
site, looking  over  at  her  tenderly ;  Justine  sat  up 
sphinx-like,  and  he  was  losing  the  constraint  her 
presence  at  first  had  caused  him.  The  fact  that  she 
took  the  situation  so  as  of  course  even  gave  him  a 
.certain  support.  In  this  French  maid's  trained  face 
he  had  much  comfort.  A  new  conductor  came  in  to 
take  their  tickets ;  and  they  drew  out  again  into  the 
gray-white  landscape  of  New  England  winter.  \Ve- 
myss  had  made  the  journey  many  hundred  times ; 
and  yet,  as  he  sat  there  looking  at  Flossie,  his  one 
thought  was  a  surprise  that  it  did  not  seem  more 
novel,  even  now.  He  tried,  like  Claude  Melnotte, 
to  think  of  Italy,  and  Como  villas ;  but  his  imagina- 
tion failed  to  go  beyond  their  arrival  in  Boston  and 
his  arrangements  for  the  voyage. 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Gower's  thoughts  were  larger  and 
less  troubled.  She  had  no  thought  for  the  immediate 
future,  at  least.  And  as  to  the  distant  future — well, 
she,  too,  had  made  up  her  mind.  They  were  both 
rich  ;  and  she  had  tried  her  woman's  weapons  on  the 
world  before.  She  by  no  means  meant  to  give  up 
her  position  in  society  ;  she  purposed  leading  it  with 
more  celebrity  than  ever;  and  in  Paris,  London,  not 
New  York.  They  had  no  divorce  in  France  ;  and  no 
one  she  cared  about  would  blame  her  for  having  exer- 
cised that  envied  American  privilege.  While  in  Eng- 
land— she  could  not  go  to  court,  of  course  ;  but  what 
cared  she  for  that  ?  She  had  been  presented  once ; 


The  End  of  the  Episode.  451 

and  the  more  fashionable  London  court,  the  circle  to 
which  all  her  social  friends  belonged,  would  not 
dream  of  caring  what  the  status  or  position  of  an 
American  had  been.  Her  springs  in  Paris,  her  sum- 
mers in  London,  her  winters  in  Pau — ah,  this  last  was 
the  life  she  secretly  looked  forward  to.  She  knew 
that  she  could  be  as  full  of  conquests,  brilliant,  capti- 
vating, as  any  of  her  favorite  Feuillet's  heroines. 
She  knew  that  she  could  still  be  there  a  reine  du- 
monde. 

She  smiled  to  herself  as  she  thought  how  the  news 
would  fly  around  New  York.  She  delighted  to 
think  that  with  Baby  Malgam,  her  nearest  friend  and 
rival,  a  certain  almost  envious  admiration  would  min- 
gle with  pretended  triumph.  Flossie  had  led  them 
up  to  the  very  end  ;  and  then,  when  she  was  fairly 
bored  with  winning,  she  had  dared  the  very  steepest 
tence  of  all.  But  how  the  old  madams  would  chuckle 
to  themselves  and  the  blue-blooded  coterie  she  had 
laughed  at  so !  She  had  driven  a  coach-and-four 
through  all  their  stupid  conventions,  and  led  the 
fashion  to  its  very  end.  And  twenty  years  ago  she 
had  not  been  "  in  society." 

She  took  up  the  newspaper,  and  read  the  long  ac- 
count of  the  ball.  She  had  always  liked  to  see  her 
beauty  and  her  dresses  hymned  in  the  daily  prints ; 
and  two  whole  paragraphs  were  given  to  her  to-day. 
"  No  one  attracted  so  much  admiration  as  Mrs.  Levi- 
son-Gower  " — Poor  Lucie  !  She  almost  wished  she 
had  a  different  husband,  though.  Poor  Lucie  was 
likely  to  be  simply  sorry.  She  almost  despised  him 


45 2  First  Harvests. 

again  for  this;  if  he  had  been  a  man  like  Kill  Van 
Kull,  for  instance,  it  would  have  been  an  added  ex- 
citement ;  and  that  faint  reproach  that  came  rather 
from  her  good  nature  than  her  conscience  would  have 
been  gone  entirely.  She  laid  the  paper  down,  and 
fell  again  into  a  reverie ;  not  reading  the  news  of  that 
great  fire  which  the  ball  had  relegated  to  the  second 
page.  On  such  trivial  chances  do  the  actions  of  our 
lives  depend. 

She  in  turn  looked  over  at  Mr.  Caryl  Wemyss,  sit- 
ting opposite  ;  he  met  her  eye  with  a  glance  of  adora- 
tion that  seemed  affected  to  sharp-sighted  Flossie. 
A  well-bred  polished  person  this ;  but  hardly  that 
Guy  Livingstone  of  her  youthful  fancy.  The  journey 
was  certainly  tedious  ;  they  were  not  at  Hartford  yet, 
and  she  looked  out  the  window  and  watched  the  rude 
fences  of  her  native  land  fly  by,  in  dwindling  perspec- 
tive. She  half-divined  his  thoughts — he  was  still  re- 
flecting of  de  Musset  and  George  Sand  ;  of  Byron 
and  the  Countess  Guiccioli ;  or  perhaps,  more  re- 
cently, of  Lord  Eskdale,  his  friend,  and  Mrs.  White- 
Thompson.  She,  however,  for  long  had  had  no  ro- 
mance in  her  composition  ;  but  only  love  of  adven- 
ture, admiration,  social  primacy,  for  good  or  evil. 
She  tried  to  banish  her  companion  from  her  mind, 
and  scheme  of  future  triumphs.  Yet  she  knew  that 
his  position  was  safer  in  the  world  than  hers. 

Already  the  gray  day  was  growing  dark  ;  and  the 
monotonous  white  wooden  houses  that  they  passed 
were  beginning  to  be  lit  with  evening  lamps.  The 
empty  fields  and  wooded  hills  about  them  made  her 


The  End  of  tJie  Episode.  453 

lonely ;  and  she  pictured  to  herself,  with  a  shudder, 
their  commonplace  firesides.  Heavens,  how  stupid  a 
thing  must  life  be  to  some !  They  passed  an  ugly 
manufacturing  village  with  its  dull,  wide  streets  and 
garniture  of  unpainted  wood  ;  and  her  fancy  seemed 
to  paint  to  her  all  their  obscurity  of  life,  their  ox-like 
submission,  with  really  no  more  faith  or  virtue,  as 
she  thought,  than  she,  only  more  hypocrisy  and  less 
courage.  Yet  she  remembered  just  such  a  village, 
hereabout,  in  her  awkward  youth  ;  and  something  of 
the  view  of  life  it  taught  came  back  to  her,  now ; 
abandoned,  as  it  had  been,  from  her  very  girlhood. 

So  this  was  the  climax,  after  all !  And  all  her  tri- 
umphs and  all  her  cleverness  had  led  to  this  ?  Some 
people  would  call  it  but  a  common  elopement,  and 
say  that  her  position  in  respectable  society  was  gone 
forever.  She  had  not  valued  this,  nor  all  these  things, 
when  she  had  got  them ;  not  even  perhaps  as  any 
Jenny  Starbuck  valued  her  diamond  ring  ;  would  she 
care  for  them  more,  now  she  had  lost  them  ?  She 
fancied  not.  And  she  looked  over  the  unpicturesque 
New-England  landscape  and  pretended  that  she  was 
a  French  duchess,  travelling  in  some  barbaric  province. 
And  then  she  looked  at  Mr.  Wemyss  once  more,  and 
again  half  wished  that  it  had  been  Van  Kull.  She 
knew  very  well  that  there  was  no  grande  passion  in 
her  case. 

When  they  got  to  Springfield,  Wemyss  got  out ; 
and  came  back  in  some  trepidation.  "  I  have  seen 
Charlie  Clarendon,"  said  he  ;  "  but  I  don't  think  that 
he  noticed  me." 


454  First  Harvests. 

"  And  what  does  it  matter  whether  he  noticed  you 
or  not  ?  "  said  Flossie,  opening  her  eyes. 

"  Why,  I  thought — that  you — that  is,  I  wanted 

• "  He  broke  off  in  some  confusion  at  Flossie's 

laugh ;  and  nothing  more  was  said  between  them,  all 
his  well-worded  compliments  meeting  no  response. 
"  She  snubs  me  as  if  I  were  her  husband,"  thought 
he ;  and  he  wished  the  awkward  journey  well  over, 
and  they  were  safely  on  the  steamer. 

There  was  something  pitilessly  practical  in  the  dull 
light  of  the  winter  afternoon  ;  commonplace,  dispirit- 
ing, and  the  twilight  hour  least  suited  of  the  twenty- 
four  for  daring  deeds.  The  very  way  the  newsboys 
cried  the  evening  papers  jarred  on  Wemyss's  mood. 
Mrs.  Gower  had  insisted  on  opening  the  door  of 
their  compartment,  for  air ;  and  he  could  see  his  fel- 
low-travellers. As  \Vemyss  sat  studying  them,  they 
seemed  types  too  simple  even  to  weave  imaginations 
about ;  their  natures  could  better  be  taken  apart,  like 
a  piston  from  its  rod,  than  painted,  like  a  flower.  He 
felt  that  his  orbit  transcended  their  imagination. 
Opposite  him  was  a  girl  of  twenty  or  more,  but  going 
back  to  school ;  attendant  on  her  was  a  boy  of  nearer 
thirty,  most  obviously  wishing  to  be  contracted  to 
her  for  matrimony,  and  most  probably  about  to  be. 
When  his  eyes  returned  from  this  roving  they  met 
Flossie's;  hers  were  fixed  on  him,  and  remained 
so,  though  she  did  not  speak,  all  the  way  to  Wor- 
cester. 

There  she  alighted  for  a  little  walk ;  and  so  they 
passed  Charlie  Clarendon,  who  recognized  them  and 


77ie  End  of  the  Episode.  455 

bowed.  "  Pray  heaven  he  does  not  fasten  to  us  in 
the  train,"  thought  Wemyss,  devoutly.  The  young 
girl  of  twenty  had  also  got  out,  and  passed  them, 
walking  with  her  adorer,  to  whose  arm  she  naively 
clung.  When  they  got  back  to  the  car,  Wemyss  drew 
the  sliding-door  before  their  compartment,  but  Mrs. 
Gower  again  objected  ;  and,  as  he  feared,  Clarendon 
was  not  the  man  to  lose  the  chance  of  recommending 
himself  to  such  a  social  shrine  as  Flossie  Gower's. 
As  the  train  drew  out  of  the  station,  he  stood  before 
their  door,  smirking  with  delight  and  pulling  his 
travelling  cap  like  Hodge  his  forelock.  But  Wemyss 
had  to  curse  him  inaudibly ;  for  Flossie  looked  up 
with  a  brighter  glance  than  she  had  worn  that  day, 
and  a  certain  gleam  of  her  old  audacity  in  her  famous 
eyes. 

"  So  glad  to  see  you  honoring  Boston  in  the  middle 
of  the  season,"  said  Clarendon.  "  Ah — Mr.  Gower 
with  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Flossie,  "  Mr.  Wemyss  is  with  me. 
Do  you  not  know  each  other  ?  Mr.  Clarendon,  Mr. 


"  I  have  the  pleasure  of  Mr.  Clarendon's  acquain- 
tance," broke  in  Mr.  Wemyss,  dryly. 

"  Er —   Gower  too  busy  to  get  away,  I  suppose  ? '' 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Flossie.  "  He  did  not  know  I 
was  coming." 

"  Ah — quite  so,"  said  Clarendon.  "  I  hope  you 
mean  to  stop  some  time  with  us  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Flossie.  "  I  leave  Boston  to-morrow 
for " 


45 6  First  Harvests. 

But  here  Wemyss  took  the  word  from  her.  "  Mrs. 
Gower  has  only  come  on  for  the  bachelors'  ball,  to- 
morrow night,"  said  he.  As  he  spoke,  Flossie  looked 
at  him,  amazed,  as  if  about  to  speak ;  then  pressed 
her  lips  together  scornfully.  Clarendon  had  been 
congratulating  himself  on  his  success  so  far ;  but  now 
he  seemed  to  meet  with  difficulties.  For  Mrs.  Gower 
became  obstinately  silent ;  she  turned  her  face  to  the 
window,  though  it  was  little  better  than  a  slaty  square, 
and  looked  obstinately  out  of  it.  Wemyss  made  no 
offer  to  give  up  his  seat,  and  answered  mostly  by  un- 
flattering interjections. 

When  Clarendon  had  gone,  Mrs.  Gower  continued 
silent.  He  watched  her  for  some  minutes ;  then  he 
ventured  a  remark.  "  That  little  Clarendon  is  the 
greatest  gossip  in  Boston." 

Flossie  made  no  reply ;  and  there  was  silence  be- 
tween them  until  the  train  reached  Boston.  Justine 
made  a  motion  to  go,  as  if  to  prepare  herself  for  the 
arrival ;  but  Mrs.  Gower  bade  her  stay.  "  We  are 
here,  dearest,  at  last,"  said  Wemyss,  taking  her  hand  ; 
but  Mrs.  Gower  withdrew  it  without  a  word. 

They  alighted,  and  Wemyss  looked  about  him  ; 
the  electric  light  made  the  faces  of  a  welcoming  crowd 
terribly  distinct ;  but  he  was  inexpressibly  relieved  to 
find  no  familiar  face  among  them. 

He  engaged  the  first  carriage  that  he  found,  and 
put  Flossie  into  it  with  the  maid ;  and  then  went 
in  search  of  her  travelling  trunks.  The  coachman 
put  them  on;  and  Wemyss  began  to  tell  him  the 
hotel. 


The  End  of  the  Episode.  457 

"  I  have  already  told  him  where  to  go,"  said  Flos- 
sie. "  I  have  decided  to  stay  for  the  bachelors'  ball." 
She  shut  the  door;  and  before  Wemyss  could  find 
his  speech,  the  carriage  had  driven  rapidly  off  and 
left  him  standing  there,  alone,  in  the  Boston  railway 
station. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

FLOSSIE   DECLINES. 

JLOSSIE  had  given  the  driver  the  address 
of  her  only  cousin  she  remembered  ;  a  cer- 
tain Mrs.  Lyman,  whose  husband  she  be- 
lieved was  some  instructor  or  professor  at 
some  college,  she  could  not  remember  where.  They 
had  sent  her  cards  upon  their  wedding ;  but  Flossie 
had  never  been  near  them  in  her  previous  trips  to 
Boston.  She  had  an  idea  they  might  be  poor ;  and 
did  not  wish  to  trouble  them  ;  and  after  all,  what 
could  there  be  between  her  life  and  theirs  ? 

So  she  had  some  qualms  of  social  conscience  when 
the  carriage  stopped  at  the  little  brick  house;  the  first 
time,  perhaps,  in  twenty  years,  that  she  felt  the  slight- 
est doubt  as  to  her  reception.  But  she  was  deter- 
mined that  she  would  go  to  no  hotel,  where  Wemyss 
might  find  her. 

But  they  proved  hospitable  people,  and  really  glad 
to  see  her,  if  just  the  least  bit  surprised.  Evidently 
they  were  much  afraid  of  her,  and  still  more  of  her 
maid  ;  but  a  room  was  found  for  Justine  too  ;  and 
in  the  morning  Mrs.  Gower  dismissed  her,  with  her 
wages  paid  some  time  ahead.  And  gradually  Flos- 
sie found  that  they  doubted  not  so  much  their 


Flossie  Declines.  459 

breeding  as  her  own ;  they  were  by  no  means 
ashamed  of  the  little  house  and  its  two  maid-ser- 
vants, but  feared  that  Flossie  might  be.  And  they 
knew  people  high-placed  enough  in  the  world  to  be 
known,  by  name,  even  to  her.  "  How  different  from 
New  York  !"  she  said  to  herself;  perhaps  she  should 
have  said,  how  different  from  that  New  York  that 
she  had  made.  They  had  several  children,  who  all 
came  to  the  breakfast-table  ;  and  Flossie  noted,  with 
much  compassion,  that  Mrs.  Lyman  was  her  own 
nurse.  She  was  persuaded  to  stay  with  them  over 
the  next  day ;  their  mode  of  life  was  a  curious  study 
to  her.  She  did  not  envy  it ;  possibly  she  even 
looked  at  it  with  horror,  for  she  never  lost  her  essen- 
tial love  for  wealth  ;  but  she  was  quite  clever  enough 
to  have  for  it  a  certain  respect.  Her  favorite  classifi- 
cations seemed  to  fail ;  they  were  not  "  bourgeois," 
but  even  gentlefolk,  such  as  she  had  read  poor  rectors' 
families  were  in  England.  And  such  as  there  are 
many  in  America,  though  she  did  not  know  it.  Flos- 
sie went  back  to  New  York  on  the  morning  train  the 
next  day,  the  same  way  she  had  come.  She  read  in 
the  paper  that  Mr.  Caryl  Wemyss  was  a  passenger  in 
the  Parthia  for  Europe.  It  was  the  best  thing  he 
could  do. 

She  had  given  much  thought  to  her  coming  meet- 
ing with  her  husband.  Would  he  suspect  anything, 
she  wondered  ?  She  hoped  not ;  and  she  turned 
about  the  paper  to  see  what  happened  in  New  York. 
She  had  not  read  a  newspaper  for  several  days  ;  her 
own  news  she  had  made,  and  she  cared  for  no  other. 


460  First  Harvests. 

A  black  headline  caught  her  eye  :  Failure  of  t lie  Star- 
buck  Oil  Company.  Great  heavens  ! 

All  her  fortune  was  still  in  that ;  save  only  the 
house  upon  Fifth  Avenue.  She  read  it  with  avidity. 
The  failure  appeared  to  be  complete ;  and  from  the 
account  she  gathered  also  the  facts  of  the  great  fire. 
It  was  believed  to  be  incendiary  the  paper  said.  How 
terrible  that  people  could  commit  such  crimes;  what 
were  the  laws  for,  and  the  decalogue  ?  The  house  of 
Townley  &  Tamms  had  also  failed  ;  it  was  believed 
the  assets  would  not  realize  ten  per  cent.  As  most  of 
the  loss  fell  upon  trusts  held  for  rich  private  individu- 
als, it  was  thought  the  failure  would  have  no  further 
disastrous  consequences  upon  the  street,  the  paper 
added  grimly.  Mr.  Phineas  Tamms  was  known  to 
be  in  Montreal  ;  young  Mr.  Townley  was  also  a  fu- 
gitive. The  Allegheny  Central  was  also  heavily  in- 
volved, but  it  was  believed  this  property  might  re- 
cover. Warrants  were  out  for  the  arrest  of  Mr. 
Townley,  Senior. 

Flossie  put  the  paper  down  with  horror.  She 
found  it  impossible  to  believe  that  she  was  ruined  ; 
that  she  could  really  ever  be  poor. 

And  then  the  thought  came  to  her,  what  a  fortu- 
nate escape;  Lucie  still  had  money  ;  but  what  would 
she  have  been,  as  his  wife,  undivorced  perhaps,  who 
had  fled  from  him  with  Caryl  Wemyss  ?  She  shud- 
dered at  the  idea;  well  she  knew  how  her  world 
would  have  regarded  her,  poor,  no  longer  able  to  daz- 
zle her  careless  court  into  complaisance,  no  longer 
materially  able  to  set  the  fashion  she  could  lead  so 


Flossie  Declines.  461 

well.  I  cannot  say  she  felt  any  remorse  ;  women  like 
Flossie  Govver  do  not  feel  remorse  ;  but  she  was  at 
least  devoutly  thankful  she  had  not  made  a  worldly 
blunder. 

How  would  Lucie  take  it  ?  This  was  her  one 
thought,  now.  He  had  been  absent  on  his  sporting 
trip  ;  but  was  certain  to  be  back  the  very  day  she  left. 
How  fortunate,  after  all,  had  been  poor  Wemyss's 
cowardice!  She  had  all  a  woman's  ignorance  of 
business;  and  she  felt,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  a 
need  of  leaning  on  her  husband.  Poverty  was  the 
one  thing  she  dreaded,  more  than  death,  more  even 
than  old  age ;  in  dishonor  she  did  not  much  believe. 
But  she  had  never  been  frightened  in  her  life  be- 
fore. 

The  journey  passed  much  more  quickly  than  her 
journey  on;  and  arriving  back  at  the  great  ter- 
minus, she  had  never  thought  to  see  again,  she  got 
nimbly  into  a  carriage  and  drove  quickly  to  her 
house.  It  was  Lucie  himself  who  met  her  at  the 
door. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  again,  Flo,"  said  he ;  and 
she  let  him  kiss  her  twice.  "  I  have  been  so  terribly 
anxious  ! " 

"  Tell  me,  Lucie — is  it  all  gone  ?  " 

"All  what  gone?"  said  he;  and  he  took  her  in  his 
arms  again.  "  You  left  no  word  where  you  had 
gone ;  and  I  have  been  almost  crying ! "  And  the 
honest  fellow  did  let  drop  two  big  salt  tears  upon  her 
little  hand. 

"  I  have  been  to  Boston — staying  with  my  cousin 


462  First  Harvests. 

— for  a  little  rest.  But  do  tell  me — have  we  lost 
everything  ?  " 

"  Lost  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  believe  the  Starbuck  Oil  has 
pretty  well  gone  up,"  said  he.  "  But  what  does  it 
matter  ?  I've  got  enough  for  two,  you  know.  My 
dear,  I  haven't  told  you,  but  I've  made  some  money 
lately !  Isn't  it  a  joke  that  I  should  make  money  ? 
And  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  that  I  can  give  you 
something  at  last !  Your  income  shall  be  just  what 
it  always  was — I'll  take  care  of  that."  Flossie  gave 
a  sigh  of  relief;  and  actually  kissed  him,  all  herself. 

Poor  Lucie  !  He  had  never  been  so  happy  in  his 
life.  Not  even  when  they  had  first  been  married  ; 
for  though  he  was  a  simple  gentleman,  his  heart  had 
grown,  since  then  ;  and  hearts  do  more  of  God's  work 
than  intellects,  even  now  in  the  world.  And  that 
very  day  he  went  down  and  bought  her  diamonds, 
even  finer  than  those  he  had  given  her  upon  their 
wedding-day. 

Did  Flossie  change  ?  I  think  not.  It  is  only  in 
novels  that  such  natures  change  at  nearly  forty  ;  it  is 
only  in  novels,  too,  that  the  unrepentant  are  brought 
up  with  a  round  turn,  and  a  moral  pointed,  in  a  flare 
of  transformation-scene  blue  lights.  But  Flossie  is 
still  rich,  and  still  she  leads  her  set  ;  she  is  still  suc- 
cessful, and  will  doubtless  be  so  to  the  very  end.  It 
is  true  some  people  say  she  is  in  her  decadence.  She 
seems  to  have  resigned  herself  to  her  final  place  in  life  ; 
and  other  younger  members  of  her  set,  Baby  Malgam, 
perhaps,  or  Mrs.  Jimmy  De  Witt,  are  passing  her. 
She  will  have  no  catastrophe  ;  and  though  (perhaps) 


Flossie  Declines.  463 

against  all  morals  of  romance,  it  must  be  said  that  she 
is  making  simple  Lucie  happier  than  he  has  ever  been 
before. 

She  still  had  one  great  scare,  however.  It  was  some 
weeks  or  months  after  this,  that  the  servant  brought 
Lucie  word  a  lady  wished  to  see  him.  It  was  in  the 
early  afternoon ;  and  he  said  that  it  must  be  for  Mrs. 
Gower ;  but  no,  she  insisted,  the  man  told  him,  that 
it  was  for  him.  She  was  a  veiled  lady,  the  servant 
said,  and  he  ran  to  his  dressing-room  and  gave  orders 
for  her  to  be  ushered  to  the  parlor. 

Going  down,  to  his  astonishment,  he  met  Justine. 
He  commonly  took  little  note  of  his  wife's  maids  ; 
but  this  one  he  remembered  because  she  had  been 
with  them  so  long.  "  You  must  wish  to  see  Mrs. 
Gower,"  he  said.  "  I'll  go  and  find  her." 

But  no,  simpered  the  Frenchwoman,  her  business 
was  with  him. 

"  Has  she  not  paid  you  your  wages  ?  she  told  me 
she  had  dismissed  you — and  for  cause." 

A  black  scowl  disfigured  the  handsome  face.  "  Ma- 
dame has  turned  me  out — like  a  dog.  And  I  have 
had  no  time  to  get  even  the  dresses  that  I  left. 
And — "  the  maid  looked  at  him  curiously.  "  I  'do 
know  somesings  about  Madame  Monsieur  would 
like  to  know — and  Madame,  she  would  give  almost 
her  beaux  yeux  not  to  have  me  tell." 

Lucie's  eyes  opened  wide ;  but  in  a  moment  their 
honest  wonderment  was  changed  to  a  look  that  Just- 
ine misinterpreted.  "  If  Monsieur  will  make  it  worth 
my  while — -je  connais  la  ge'iicrosite  de  Monsieur — I  can 


464  First  Harvests. 

tell  of  Madame's  voyage  to  Boston — sings  zat  he 
would  like  to  know  !  " 

She  stopped ;  for  Mr.  Gower  was  struggling  with 
many  words.  The  soubrette  looked  cunningly  at  the 
gentleman  ;  and  he  began  with  an  indignant  burst ; 
but  then  he  mastered  himself.  He  took  her  by  the 
wrist,  and  led  her  forcibly  to  Mrs.  Gower's  room.  It 
must  be  confessed  that  Flossie's  color  changed  when 
she  saw  the  strange  pair  enter. 

"  Has  this  woman  been  fully  paid  ?  "  said  he  to  his 
wife. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Flossie.  "  I  had  to  discharge  her 
for  insolence  to  me,  and  she  went  away  vowing  re- 
venge." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Lucie.  "  James,  show  this 
woman  the  door ;  and  hark  ye,  Pauline,  Fifine,  what- 
ever your  name  is,  if  you  even  ring  this  door-bell  again, 
I'll  have  you  arrested." 

Ah,  Miss  Flossie,  there  are  some  advantages  you 
had  not  understood,  in  marrying  a  gentleman,  though 
not  a  clever  one — are  there  not  ? 

And  this  scene  ended  Flossie  Gower's  episode.  She 
lived  on,  and  still  went  to  balls,  and  gave  her  dinners  ; 
some  people  even  say  that  she  fell  in  love  with  her 
husband.  But  this  the  author,  at  least,  takes  liberty 
to  doubt;  she  liked  him,  in  a  way,  for  he  made  her 
own  way  his  so  good-naturedly.  I  do  not  even  know 
if  she  be  contented  ;  but  she  certainly  has  more  than 
her  deserts.  Perhaps  she  still  hears,  with  half  a  sigh, 
of  Kitty  Farnum's — the  Countess  of  Birmingham's — 
success  in  England ;  and  casts  a  glance  of  envy  at  that 


Flossie  Declines.  465 

lady's  varied  photographs  in  the  shop  windows,  if  she 
ever  walks  down  Broadway.  But  then  her  whilom 
protegee  had  married  a  peer  of  the  realm ;  and  I  am 
sure  that  she  is  glad  she  has  not  married  Caryl  VVemyss. 

But  Mrs.  Gower  leads  no  longer.  She  even  has 
little  influence  for  ill ;  or  if  she  has,  she  does  not 
choose  to  exert  it.  She  is  a  model  no  longer;  the  d£- 
butantes  have  taken  other  patterns.  I  am  not  sure 
that  Mrs.  Haviland  even  has  not  greater  influence — 
but  this  is  anticipating.  The  young  men  no  longer 
cluster  round  her  carriage  at  the  races;  poor  Arthur's 
was  perhaps  the  last  of  all  the  lives  she  injured. 

Let  us  turn  to  others,  in  whom,  as  may  be  hoped, 
the  reader  takes  more  interest.  But  first,  we  turn 
one  glance  at  Mr.  Wemyss.  One  glance  will  be 
enough.  No  one,  of  course,  ever  knew  of  his  great 
adventure ;  he  has  sometimes  wished  to  tell  it,  but 
never  wholly  dared.  Moreover,  his  honor  as  a  gentle- 
man forbids.  Clarendon  has  sometimes  spoken  of  his 
queer  meeting  with  him  and  Flossie  Gower;  people 
wonder  idly,  when  they  grow  scandalous,  what  has 
been  between  them  ;  but  no  one  really  cares.  Mr. 
Wemyss  himself,  as  Flossie  thought,  did  the  best 
thing  possible  under  the  circumstances ;  he  went  to 
Europe  on  the  Parthia,  and  has  stayed  there  ever 
since.  Let  us  dismiss  him  from  our  thoughts ;  he  is 
surely  not  a  hero  of  romance,  nor  yet  even  a  man  in  a 
French  play,  as  he  fondly  fancied  ;  nor  yet  even  a  real 
man  at  all.  Perhaps  there  will  even  be  no  Decadence. 

Of  his  life  he  made  a  poor  play ;  yet  could  not  even 
play  it  to  the  end. 
30 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE  FLOWERS   IN  THE   HARVEST. 

|O  sheriff's  warrant  was  ever  served  on  Mr. 
Townley.  Lionel  Derwent*took  care  of 
that,  and  stayed  with  him  (for  he  was 
childless)  for  some  few  weeks,  until  the 
old  man  died,  of  softening  of  the  brain.  Then  Der- 
went  went  away  again ;  to  Asia,  I  believe,  or  to 
Africa,  or  Australia.  Before  he  left,  Gracie  had  a 
very  curious  call  from  him.  He  said  a  word  or  two 
to  her  of  Mamie,  and  then  a  word  or  two  of  Arthur, 
and  then  a  word  or  two  of  John  Haviland  ;  and  then 
he  took  his  leave,  shaking  hands  with  her  in  his  awk- 
ward English  way,  and  she  never  saw  him  more.  For 
he  never  met  another  woman  whom  he  loved. 

He  did  not  ask  to  take  farewell  of  Mamie,  and  she 
was  very  glad  when  she  heard  that  he  was  gone.  She 
had  no  love  for  him  ;  and  she  had  had  none  even  for 
Charlie  Townley.  But  for  this  young  man  she  did 
now  feel  a  vast  pity;  he  was  a  fugitive  from  justice, 
and  yet  all  the  world  admitted  he  had  been  innocent 
of  purposed  wrong.  Mamie  herself  could,  perhaps, 
have  brought  the  heaviest  indictment  against  him  ; 
but  it  had  never  occurred  to  her  that  so  great  a  per- 
sonage as  he  could  have  sought  her  out  for  any 
worldly  reasons.  Now,  perhaps,  she  measures  excell- 


The  Flowers  in  the  Harvest.         467 

ence  with  different  eyes  ;  but  she  was  very  sorry  for 
him,  and  I  know  not  what  might  have  happened 
had  Charlie,  in  his  poorest  days,  asked  her  to  be  his 
wife.  But  he  never  did,  and  the  suits  against  him 
were  soon  withdrawn,  and  now  he  is  again  in  business 
in  a  small  way. 

And  soon  the  glass  roof,  and  the  tempered  light, 
and  the  parent  trees  about  which  Mamie's  pretty 
flower  had  thrived  so  pleasantly,  were  gone,  and  her 
poor  vanities  were  rudely  stripped  away ;  for  Mr. 
Livingstone  did  not  survive  his  loss  of  fortune  and 
his  oldest  friend's  disgrace,  and  his  wife  soon  followed 
him  ;  and  Mamie  was  left — no,  not  alone ;  with 
Gracie.  It  is  only  Gracie  who  was  lonely  then. 
Gracie  had  little  money,  and  Mamie  was  left  almost 
poor ;  but  she  grew  up  to  be  a  very  lovely  woman, 
and  I  know  two  or  three  good  fellows  who  are  now 
in  love  with  her. 

And  Arthur,  our  hero — did  I  say  he  was  our  hero  ? 
All  the  world  will  still  tell  you,  Arthur  Holyoke  is 
a  successful  young  man.  His  practicable  ambitions 
have  all  been  realized.  And,  after  all,  which  one  of 
us  has  realized  our  youthful  dreams  ?  Arthur  has 
written  no  poem,  to  be  sure,  but  he  is  making  money ; 
enough  to  pay  all  his  club  bills,  and  his  salmon  fish- 
ing, and  his  trip  to  Europe  once  a  year.  And  nobody 
blames  him  for  not  having  written  any  poem  ;  on  the 
contrary,  they  praise  him  for  his  clever  head,  and  his 
handsome  face,  young  looking  for  his  age,  and  admire 
his  faultless  style.  He  is  a  butterfly,  but  a  butterfly 
with  a  bee's  brains ;  he  has  a  head  for  business ;  of 


468  First  Harvests. 

such  is  the  republic  of  America,  not  of  wan,  unprac- 
tical poets.  Will  he  ever  marry  ?  Oh,  yes,  perhaps 
he  will,  at  forty ;  perhaps  he  will  not.  But  what 
does  it  matter  to  the  reader  ? 

On  that  snowless  winter's  day,  Gracie,  sitting  alone 
in  her  one  own  room,  had  bidden  him  in  her  heart 
farewell.  She  was  glad  to  hear  that  he  was  doing 
well,  and  she  will  be  the  kinder  to  his  sons  and  daughr 
ters,  when  he  has  them  ;  they  will  not  know  why,  but 
they  will  be  fond  of  her.  His  friendship  with  Mrs. 
Gower  continued ;  but  he  saw  Gracie  less  and  less. 

When  the  old  people  died,  Gracie  and  Mamie  lived 
together,  as  I  have  said  ;  and  I  wish  that  I  could  tell 
how  our  friend  Haviland  went  on,  and  worked,  and 
watched  for  her,  and  dreamed  of  her,  and  won  her  at 
the  last.  But  that  would  be  writing  another  novel, 
would  it  not  ? 

It  is  now  three  years  since  the  great  fire.  James 
Starbuck  has  not  been  heard  of  since  ;  not  yet,  at 
least.  John  Haviland  and  Gracie  have  been  mar- 
ried, and  Mamie  still  lives  with  them.  They  live  in 
a  smaller  house  than  Mrs.  Gower's,  to  be  sure,  but 
they  manage  to  be  happy;  and  their  sons  will  be 
strong-souled,  large-hearted,  to  meet  the  Jem  Star- 
bucks that  are  to  come  ;  and  Gracie's  daughters  will 
be  like  to  her,  and  bear  from  her  the  vestal  fire,  each 
one  to  her  own  household;  not  advertised,  perhaps,  to 
thousands,  but  yet  a  kindly  warmth  to  the  few  that 
stand  within  its  circle  of  light. 

For  on  gentle  people  such  as  these  shall  the  future 
of  our  land  depend. 


